


An Honourable Assassin

by erobey



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erobey/pseuds/erobey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erestor has a special guest, the Twins want him, but he only has eyes for their Adar. An ancient race of elves, all but extinct, has a new member, and the newly ordained Assassin of Imladris is on a mission to win his heart-mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

# An Honourable Assassin

#### by erobey • un-beta'd •  _italics = thoughts_

A Guest in the Valley

_Who is that?_

_Don't know but I saw him first._

_What nonsense! We arrived together at the exact same moment._

_Hardly. I crossed the threshold ahead of you by a good ten seconds at least._

_Doesn't matter; you were looking at me and I was looking into the room; therefor I saw him before you did._

_Don't be such a child; we'll share._

The twin Lords of Imladris, having just returned from a lengthy campaign among the Rangers of Eriador in which they had slain so many orcs they'd lost count, were eager to spend a few hours of relaxation in the healing spas for which their father's estate was renowned. They stood just inside the bounds of their favourite sauna, a small stone enclosure with high slatted windows, an earthen floor, numerous cedar wood benches, a cool pool of clear water, and a steaming fire-pit. The air was hot and hazy with warm moist mist. 

Through it they studied a nude figure stretched out face down on one of the benches, a long swath of golden hair obscuring most of his back and shoulders but leaving a most tantalising view of a well-shaped arse and incredibly long and leanly muscled legs. One arm hung down over the side of the bench, the other pillowed his head, but the angle of their approach was such that they could not view the countenance attached to the lithe form.

In unison the brothers entered, removing their robes and hanging them neatly on pegs provided for just that purpose, and shared a purely predatory look before advancing into the room. Before they had gone three strides, a blur of motion hued in peach and ebony announced the arrival of Lord Erestor, from whence they could not fathom for the room was really not that large. He stood before them in imposing authority, arms folded over his chest, features already arranged in admonishing censure, his august presence undiminished for all he was naked, hair damp with sweat and steam. The twins halted and frowned identical expressions of annoyed deference.

"Suilad, Erestor." They spoke in concert, too. "We didn't see you here."

"Obviously. You do now and thus it should not be necessary for me to point out that this sauna is taken." The elf's voice was cool and silky and filled with unmistakable tones of menace. Behind him there was an indistinct stirring and a new voice spoke.

"Erestor? What is amiss, mellon?" 

The words were limned in sleepy half-awareness and the brothers leaned sideways in opposite directions, eager to gaze past the living obstruction of Erestor's not unimpressive unclothed body and get a glimpse of their prey. They were equally and simultaneously stunned by the vision of a fair face and wide, blinking blue eyes peering over a bare shoulder, the elf propped up on his arm so that he was half-turned toward them. Twinned hearts gave two ungainly leaps and then set up a steady and rapid thudding that for some reason robbed them of the ability to breathe for a couple of seconds.

"Nothing, mellon," called Erestor sweetly. "I neglected to mark the sauna as in use. Rest and be not disturbed; all is well." He was smiling at the prone elf in warm felicity, an expression rare upon his face, for Erestor had many varieties of smiles and nearly all of them communicated at least a hint of aloof contempt for the individuals graced to receive them. The unknown elf smiled back, responding to the seneschal's gracious demeanour.

"All right," he said and shifted, rolling onto his back and stretching, crooking one arm behind his head as the other sent his free hand in a light, smoothing gesture down the long length of his torso, over his flat abdomen, and right down to his crotch where it made a quick adjustment of the equipment there before retreating to rest atop his navel. A contented sigh left him and his eyelids were already drifting down as he lapsed into reverie again.

_Wow._

_Uh…_

The twins' thought processes were momentarily hampered by the sudden southward diversion of blood normally allotted to the brain's higher functions. Movement close at hand brought limited reasoning capability to the fore and they transferred lust-addled eyes to Erestor, who stood with hands now upon his hips, his stare a threatening glower of fierce and possessive warning. Together the brothers took an involuntary step back.

"We'll just be going then," said one and reached for a robe, handing it off to his brother as he received one his twin held forth in turn. They stumbled back out into the glare of the bright Imladrian sun, noting Erestor's' smug and triumphant sniff as they did, and wandered in an aimless way toward another sauna room.

"I guess Erestor saw him first."

"Aye, but who in Mordor is he?"

"Not from Lorien, despite the yellow hair. We know everybody there."

"From Lindon?"

"Mayhap a new page, a son of one of the Sindarin nobles sent for training in state-craft."

"I hope so for that would mean he'll be here for several years. Plenty of time to get to know him."

" _Must_  get to know him, fully and intimately." They grinned in salacious agreement, then one frowned slightly.

"What about Erestor? He's obviously not going to relinquish his claim easily."

"So? Just because he's older and meaner doesn't mean he's entitled to have the elf. They aren't mates and so that lovely young golden thing in there is fair game. We can easily win him from Erestor."

"Erestor is no toad, muindor."

"True, but we are two and he is one."

"Aye, none have resisted our combined overtures yet. Still, Erestor is not an elf to cross lightly. Are we sure this is a competition we want to pursue?"

"Are we willing to give up the chance of tasting that glorious mouth, those delicate pink nipples, and that lovely rosy cock?"

"Actually, it's the vision of bending him over that bench and pounding my rigid shaft up his tight little rear end that makes me dare duelling with Erestor the Assassin of Sirion."

The brothers shared another look of licentious anticipation mingled with just a hint of nervous solemnity over the impending contest. Erestor was a formidable adversary and one they'd never contended against in any endeavour, much less the wooing of a paramour. They walked a time in quiet introspection, chose another sauna, and spent an hour discussing the finer attributes of the unknown visitor and devising a plan of attack that would subdue him and make him yield up all those delicious treasures. They concluded the war council in confident assurance of victory. After all, neither could ever recall seeing Erestor express carnal interest in anyone.

_Comely appearance and refined manners will only get him so far. The ancient warrior is sadly out of practise._

Aye, he's sure to blunder terribly and either offend the elf or embarrass himself.

Hopefully both.

They left the sauna much refreshed and eager to begin. The first step in gaining a potential lover's interest was to learn about him so as to impress him with the degree to which they found him fascinating by catering to all his whims and wishes. Since they knew nothing and could not approach Erestor, the twins chose the next best source and sought out their father.

TBC

 


	2. Chapter 2

# An Honourable Assassin

#### by erobey • un-beta'd •  _italics = thoughts_

## Strike One

When the twins finally found him it was late afternoon and Lord Elrond was in the laboratory, deeply engrossed in an exhaustive experiment of some sort and surrounded by a daunting agglomeration of bottles and bowls and glass vials, some emitting atrocious odours and unpleasant wisps of suspicious looking smoke. The contents of these various vessels swirled, bubbled, hissed, and filtered through a tangled mass of twisted glass tubing, here condensing and there sublimating, depositing residual solids in one place and out-gassing smelly fumes on the other side of the convoluted connections. The twins regarded him from the doorway in trepidation. Elrond disliked being disturbed when he was in the laboratory.

"What?" he barked suddenly, not bothering to raise his head from the intense scrutiny he was giving the slow drip of pale pink fluid into a closed beaker with what looked, to his sons at least, like dirt in the bottom of it.

"Suilad, Adar," said one.

"Good to be home again," said the other, both voices identically couched in a slightly sarcastic form of winsome melancholy.

Well, Elrond felt bad immediately and briefly shut his eyes, lips compressing in a grim scowl of dismay. He knew his sons had arrived the day before but hadn't come forth to greet them, not even to share the evening meal. He'd been so busy and he'd reached such a critical stage in the procedure that he daren't trust the delicate measurements and observations to his assistant. Still, he could have spared a minute or two to check in with them, see if they had any hurts that needed tending, ask about the orc hunting, vainly venture to enquire whether either one had given any thought to settling down and making children, engage in the kind of generic interest a father is expected to show. He sighed a guilty sigh and straightened up, tearing his sight from the bubbling apparatus and offering a contrite smile.

"Yes, it is indeed good to have you both home, safe and well," he said, coming to meet them at the door. Much as he loved them, skilled as they were in the art of killing things, the lore-master knew not to permit his sons anywhere near the delicate and elaborate equipment in his laboratory. 

His raised, outstretched arms promised a tender embrace while effectively shooing them away from the room. He followed them out and they got their hugs in the adjacent study. There his assistant was busy searching through a tremendous heap of scrolls for one in particular which Elrond was sure he'd read years ago and stowed safely somewhere in the vast collection of literature stored haphazardly in a faint semblance of order in the document room. The ellon looked up in surprise to see Elrond there and glanced from one twin to the other in mounting alarm. Without a word spoken he leaped to his feet and pushed past the three Lords into the lab to take over the painstaking observation.

"Did we scare him off?" snickered Elladan. 

His father gave him the mild remonstrance of an arched brow and led the way to a semi-cleared grouping of chairs round what was surely a desk, though the proliferation of parchments and scrolls and decrepit books utterly obscured the surface. Elrond heaved the bulk of it onto the floor and a cloud of fine dust arose accompanied by the scattering of pages like leaves from a deciduous tree in autumn.

"The place really is a mess, Ada," Elrohir said, nose wrinkling in distaste as he tried to move a stack of papers that fell to flakes in his hands. 

"Yes, I suppose so. Nobody wants to help me sort it out. Mithrandir promised to help me get it catalogued this summer, so there is that to look forward to." Elrond had to tip his chair and shake it a few times to make the jumbled litter in it fall away. He sat and regarded his sons with proud appreciation. They were fine young Lords, dedicated to ridding the world of the terrible blight of orcs, honourable in every way, and as regal and debonair as any of the Noldorin princes of old. His smile slipped a little as he caught them fidgeting and glancing covertly one to the other while pretending to observe the surroundings, a sure sign they were conversing telepathically and trying to hide it from him. 

"Stop it!" he bellowed and they both jumped at least an inch in their seats. He raised a condemning fore-finger and shook it at them. "I've told you before; I don't care what you do when you're among the humans, you will not be so rude as to mind-speak about me right in front of me."

"Aye."

"Sorry, Adar."

He eyed them severely in the silence that followed but they refrained from their favoured form of communication and lapsed into mirrored poses of feigned indifference. "What is it?" he demanded testily.

"Nothing, really, it's just that it's autumn now."

"What?"

"Aye, summer's been and gone and we ran into Mith out in Eriador near the Shire."

"Seems he came as promised but you weren't here. Off on an excursion to collect soil samples in Rhovanian or something."

"So you missed him completely but he wasn't put out about it."

"Nay, just suggested you might need a break from all this boring nonsense…I mean academic enterprise."

"Aye, it's partly why we came home."

"Are you all right, Ada?" They concluded in chorus.

"What? Yes, I'm fine." Elrond gaped from one to the other, stunned at the amount of time that had gone by and his lack of cognisance concerning the state of the world. "Are you certain?" They nodded and he frowned, glancing to the window for confirmation which didn't help because Vilya prevented the seasons from shifting in Imladris. He was getting entirely too absent minded lately. Well, it couldn't be helped now; he'd have to send Mithrandir a cordial letter of apology and a flask of miruvor. At last he heaved a heavy breath, leaned back in his chair, and smiled at them. "I'm gratified by your concern, but all is well. I suppose I need to keep a calendar like the mortals do. Now then, tell me all about the latest campaigns in Eriador. Did you kill lots of orcs? What are the Rangers up to? Have you been to Lindon?"

"We always kill lots of orcs."

"And there's really nothing new, Ada. The orcs and the humans multiply at roughly the same rate so we never seem to get ahead."

"It's an ugly stalemate, but of course the Rangers persist and the struggle goes on."

"We've not visited Lindon in what feels like an age."

"Ah, perhaps you two need a holiday, for this is grim work and I sense deep weariness in your auras," said Elrond solemnly. "A trip to the falas would be most invigorating and perhaps you might meet someone there. Someone to marry and make grandchildren with."

The brothers startled sharply and in concert, scowling over this persistent demand of their Ada's for grandchildren. Yet, the comment did provide a fitting segue into the real reason for their visit. They shared cunning looks; this would take a delicate bit of subterfuge if they hoped to hide the nature of their interest in the new ellon.

"Oh, it's to be that look, is it?" huffed Elrond. "Please, it gives you away every time. Fine, what is it you want from me?"

"We are not going wife-shopping in Mithlond," announced Elrohir, voice filled with dismay while his mind was smiling.

"Why not? Good people there, strong bloodlines. Just don't bring back one of those rustic Avarin maids."

"We don't want wives and children," Elladan insisted, sounding aggravated while silently he shared his glee with his brother. "Yet a time of rest here at home is in order. What is new in Imladris?"

"New?" Elrond's brows rose. "Nothing is ever new in Imladris; that is the whole point of Vilya. The valley remains unchanged, a symbol of elven culture and heritage in a world of decaying morals and lacklustre ethical values. Why don't you want wives and children? We need to keep the lineage going and there are few enough elves left as it is. Is it so much to ask to have a couple of grandchildren? Thranduil has  _great_  GREAT grandchildren, lots and lots of them. Every letter he sends is filled with anecdotes about them and little sketches in the margins."

"Let Arwen do it, then," suggested Elrohir. "Isn't she getting cosy with Haldir?"

"Perhaps, but…"

"We couldn't possibly commit to marriages and families what with the Vow and all," Elladan interrupted. "You wouldn't want us to renounce the solemn Vow we made to Nana, would you?" This always stopped Elrond cold and it was rather a low blow but the twins were willing to endure only so much of the 'grandchildren' harangue. This time they welcomed it for it provided a suitable screen for their real purpose. "So," Elladan ventured, "are there any new folk about? Anyone visiting or perhaps even here to stay?"

"No, should there be?" Elrond peered at them suspiciously.

"Oh, not really," drawled Elrohir, "we just saw Erestor with someone we didn't recognise, that's all."

"Who?"

"We don't know, that's what we're asking you."

"Describe this person."

"I don't know if I can do so adequately; we only saw him for a moment or two," Elladan scrunched up his brow as though making the effort to recall something about the ellon. He then shrugged, glanced at his brother and proceeded: "Well, long blond hair, big blue eyes, warrior's physique. What else?" he asked his brother.

"That's about it," Elrohir shrugged. "Youngish, slender, more an archer's bone structure than a swordsman."

"Sounds like Rumil to me," Elrond glowered. "I have told Celeborn not to send him here again for at least a century or until he proves to have achieved some semblance of maturity. That whole stunt with the horse manure and the wine bottles was inexcusable."

"It's not Rumil," they chorused, stifling smiles over the memory of that amusing little event.

"Then," Elrond rose and came out from his desk, extending his arm in the direction of the exit, "I suggest you ask Erestor since he was with the elf. Perhaps it is someone he invited from Mithlond. He was there last year for Cîrdan's emigration conference." His sons stood and moved with him to the door, shaking their heads.

"Erestor was reluctant to introduce us," said one.

"We thought it odd and so came to find out what all the secrecy was about," added the other.

"Sorry, I haven't any idea who it could be," Elrond said. "Now, I must get back to my studies. Perhaps we'll dine together later, hmmm?" He gave them each a pat on the back that was half a push out the door, a brief smile, and then disappeared back inside the laboratory.

_Rein. Defeated._

_Nay, we learned something important: Erestor is keeping this ellon all to himself. Ada would remember if ever he'd seen him._

_Which means what? We already knew it would not be easy competing against Erestor._

_No, you're missing the point. He must feel terribly insecure about his ability to hold onto his delectable golden sylph. That will make him much easier to defeat. We've as much as won already._

_Don't be over confident. Remember, we don't even know who he is yet._

_True, but there are secondary sources._

_Lindir._

_Right._

The brothers strode back through the garden to the main house, eager to locate the famed minstrel and see if they could induce him to share a little information, never realising their father was observing them and had noticed their silent têt-a-têt. Elrond chuckled, a dark low rumble of menacing mirth that made his assistant cringe. He accidentally knocked a glass beaker with his hand and it clanked loudly against a metal clamp.

"Be careful!" Elrond bellowed, wheeling and storming to the spot, waving away the hapless ellon. He inspected the apparatus, gave the assistant a caustic glare, and dismissed him. He needed time to think and wanted no distraction.

_So, Erestor has a guest. Now, why would he hide the ellon away from me?_

Obviously his sons thought it was a visit with romantic overtones, but Elrond knew that Erestor hadn't been able to feel desire for anyone ever since his disastrous affair with the Elven King of Mirkwood. That had been an Age ago at least. Perhaps his kinsman's heart was healing at last. Elrond decided he would need to find out all about this new beau so to be sure his dear friend would not be hurt again. Erestor was not nearly as indestructible as his daunting reputation led people to believe. The Assassin of Sirion had a heart just as prone to breaking as everyone else.

Elrond truly meant to look into the matter without delay, but just then his experiment began to bear the long-awaited fruit for which he had worked these many centuries. Caught up in the exhilaration of such a successful trial and eager to document the results, he lost track of time and completely forgot about the unknown guest.

TBC

 


	3. Chapter 3

# An Honourable Assassin

#### by erobey • un-beta'd •  _italics = thoughts_

## Strike Two

"If you have any sense at all you'll stay well away from him," Lindir warned, voice low as his eyes darted about the conservatory as if someone would be likely to try and eavesdrop on the conversation. The Twins shared an amused look and then did the same, quite willing to play along with the singer's abrupt tendency to paranoia. Lindir knew they were teasing but didn't care. Once they were apprised of the facts they would be just as jumpy as everyone else in the house was.

"Why?" demanded twin one on the minstrel's left; he never could tell one from the other.

"Isn't it obvious? He's Erestor's."

"What do you mean?" queried twin two on the right. "We took careful note of the absence of any rings on either one's fingers."

"Doesn't matter. His people don't believe in rings. Symbols of bondage or some such thing. Haven't you seen them together? Erestor is verily glued to him."

"Well who in Mordor is he?" they asked together.

"One Legolas of Greenwood."

"You mean Mirkwood," snorted the one on the right.  _Ai Valar, a Wood Elf._

"Better not call it that in his hearing," warned Lindir.

"Fine, we'll call it Greenwood though it hasn't been for more than an Age," grumped the one on the left. He brightened noticeably and smiled to his brother.  _Aye, a Wood Elf, muindor, lovely and unsophisticated._

"And don't make any of those tasteless jokes about the woodland folk being mixed with dwarvish bloodlines," continued Lindir, "just because their King dwells underground. The tale told is that a man from Dale uttered that insult and our guest responded by ensuring the poor human will never reproduce."

"Ai!" The twins exclaimed and flinched in unison. "We would never repeat such a slur," they insisted. 

"Now what is he doing here? Is he some sort of diplomat or a spy or what? We've never had any sylvan folk in the valley before," asked the one on the right.

"He's apparently on holiday. As to what he is, he's Thranduil's youngest son is what," intoned the singer with proper dramatic emphasis, pleased when this gave the brothers a severe shock. Lindir smirked. "Aye, not someone to toy with, I assure you."

"Toy with?"

"What makes you think we would toy with him?"

"We're interested and intrigued, certainly, but that hardly means we plan to treat him badly."

"Aye, he might enjoy our interest and attention, you know."

"You did."

Now it was Lindir's turn to wince and he also turned red about the ears, made another sweep of the room through nervous eyes and then turned them in imploring misery upon the brothers. "Please don't bring that up. It was long ago and I was going through a terrible ordeal at the time. Your father doesn't know and he'd be so disappointed in me if he found out, carrying on that way with his sons under his very roof."

"Oh, well thank you very much," the one on the right straightened up, bristly and defencive. "We all had a lot of fun and you weren't complaining as I remember it."

"And Ada certainly knows. During one particularly festive Yule several centuries ago, I had too much to drink and it slipped out," admitted the one on the left, a sheepish shrug answering the minstrel's expression of stricken horror.

Lindir buried his face in his hands. "I am ruined. No wonder Elrond has been suggesting I might like a trip to Mithlond."

"Don't be silly; he isn't mad at you and rather thinks you were seduced against your better judgement. We endured a lengthy and scathing lecture about misusing the trust of friends."

"Well, I was seduced against my better judgement," Lindir rose, angry and humiliated. "I don't know how I'll be able to face him. You two are just rotten!" He stalked out of the music room in a black mood.

The brothers stared after him in exasperation.

"What brought that on?"

"Don't know, but he's always been high strung."

"Aye, that was a challenging affair indeed. All the consoling and reassuring and flattery we had to generate."

"Not to mention the gifts."

"And the secrecy." Their features reordered into identical grins. "That bit was great fun."

"Indeed! Now, what about this Wood Elf prince? Are we still in accord? Might prove disappointing in the long run."

"Aye, his conversational skills are sure to be lacking. He won't know anything about philosophy, art, or politics."

"Ugh! Lots of talk about trees and flowers and hunting deer."

"And he probably doesn't know how to play any strategy games."

"True, but as long as he's willing to play the Naughty Stable Boy I don't care." They exchanged randy smirks and lurid giggles.

"I doubt he'll like the sort of literature we're used to."

"Probably doesn't read at all," they snickered in unison.

"So what, I'm willing to overlook it; he's stunning. The physical attributes compensate for what he lacks in mental acuity. I say we proceed."

"Agreed, but this is King Thranduil's Precious, his Golden Warrior Son. That puts a different shoe on it."

"Aye, no wonder Erestor is hiding him from Elrond. That messy love triangle nearly brought the two realms to war."

"It behoves us to remove this troublesome source of conflict from interaction with our naive seneschal."

"Yes, we'd be doing a noble deed. Poor old Erestor's in over his head again, heart turned right-side-out by a pretty face and a tight arse."

"Sneaky sylvan seducer! Holiday? Pah! Thranduil obviously sent him here to dally with Erestor and make him fall in love with him."

"Now that's cold-blooded revenge, sending his son in to finish off his old flame like this."

"Poor old Erestor."

The brothers fell silent as they considered the situation. Why the Elven King would choose to do such a thing was troubling them, for they couldn't conjure a single logical reason for it. At last they decided that a spurned and broken heart was not capable of rational thinking and let it go at that. Their imperative was clear: to save Erestor and salvage the dignity of their realm by bedding the sinister Prince of Mirkwood and bedding him so well that he would be disinclined to do anything else with anybody else for the duration of his stay in Rivendell.

"All right, then: strategy? Lindir didn't tell us much about him."

"We know enough; he's a Wood Elf." The twins shared a contemptuous sneer.

"So, we find out which suite he's in and go from there. Wild flowers instead of orchids and roses…"

"Hunting and riding invitations instead of music and poetry…"

"Sparring and archery contests instead of strategy games and intellectual discussions…"

"And no mention of inbreeding, miscegenation, or the Last Alliance. Ugh. He'd better be as good as he looks."

"Don't be an idiot; you saw him naked. Besides, we're doing this for Erestor and Imladris." That they were doing it for sport and because they were bored neither cared to acknowledge. Theirs were the sort of scruples which couldn't bear too keen a scrutiny.

All in all it was a good plan and the brothers had ample experience with various Galadhrim ellyn which attested to the positive results such a plot tended to produce. They quickly discovered a variety of obstacles impeding its execution, however, along with an uncharacteristic degree of cautious and tight-lipped discretion among the household staff. Nobody would tell them where Legolas was rooming, emphatically certain it was not in Lord Elrond's mansion. Many expressed surprise and incredulity over his presence in the valley. Most exhibited the same trepidation and vague paranoia Lindir presented and simply refused to say anything, not even Faelon, Erestor's personal secretary. The Twins were stymied in a way never before encountered and stomped from the Last Homely House in exasperated frustration.

They retired to the training fields and revised the scheme over an exhausting sparring match. There was no option but to track Erestor's movements, clandestinely of course, and pounce on their prey right before the seneschal's eyes. A daring and risky move, yes, but little else seemed plausible. The brothers refused to be reduced to juvenile tactics like lurking about the spa in hopes of running into the couple again, or hanging about the stables in order to casually encounter them whilst readying their mounts for a morning ride in the country. They were Lords. They were warriors. They were the famed Orc-slayers of Imladris, for menel's sake. No Mirkwood pseudo-prince of dubious bloodlines, royal in only the loosest interpretation of that term, would elude their attack and escape their clutches.

One thought plagued their combined consciences: what if their interference hurt Erestor more than a quick affair with the Wood Elf would? Perhaps the Assassin of Sirion was more than able to manage his emotions and turn the tables on his old nemesis in love, sending the little golden sprite home to his Ada with a badly bruised faer and a blistered heart? The moral dilemma ended when they decided it was best not to permit this contention to reawaken and put both realms at peril, or at least a heightened state of enmity. Thus, the Twins successfully and definitively rationalised the cunning designs of their 'lesser brains' and set forth with renewed resolve.

Shadowing Erestor proved a more difficult proposition than trailing hordes of stupid, though perilous, Orcs. The seneschal, usually an ellon meticulous in his daily routines, seemed suddenly to have developed a cavalier attitude toward his duties as well as the knack of instantaneous disappearance. The brothers would wait in the antechamber to his office every morning only to hear his voice murmuring instructions to Faelon on the opposite side of the door, the office side, but when they entered found him absent. 'Oh, he's just left,' Faelon would drawl, motioning in a heedless manner in the direction of the balcony, and would leave them there staring at the banistered upper-story porch in bafflement.

Where, exactly, could one get to from an enclosed balcony on the third floor? A thorough inspection of the small space produced no clues at all. Either Erestor had grown wings and flown away, leaped to the ground below, climbed up the side of the house onto the roof, or jumped from the rails onto the balcony next door. A scrutiny of the sky revealed no great eagles winging away toward the horizon. No howls of pain emanated from the lawn, along with no image of Erestor sprawled amid the flowers with a broken leg. The exterior stucco displayed no scuffing or marring from boots scrambling over its surface, and thus the brothers deduced the last option must be the correct one. Next door to the seneschal's study was the book copying chamber. It was empty except for numerous desks at which sat numerous scribes, all intently and carefully transcribing the contents of numerous books. 'Oh, you've just missed him,' one answered to the question put to the room in general, that being 'Where is Erestor?', and pointed with his quill to the open balcony.

This little scene was re-enacted three times before the Twins gave up the idea of letting Erestor lead them to the Wood Elf, certain that he was somehow aware of their efforts and would lead them only on a wild goose chase. Furious but also strangely excited and invigorated by the challenge, they retreated once more to the training fields to work off their excess energy. It was while duelling with deadly long knives that they arrived at the perfect solution.

"As the sons of the ruling Lord of Imladris, and Lords of the Land ourselves, we must host a State Ball in honour of our esteemed guest from Greenwood."

"Yes, Adar is so wrapped up in his work he's neglected the proper forms of courtesy and decorum. We must not let the reputation of our House be tarnished by his lax attitude."

"Aye, and for all we know this Legolas feels unduly insulted and will report the slight to his father. We can't permit Ada's unintentional indifference to place a burden of such magnitude upon Imladris."

Sharing gleeful thoughts over their combined cleverness, for Erestor could not ignore an official invitation nor refuse to tender the same to his guest, the Twins cleaned themselves up, commandeered one of the scribes, sent for a paper maker, and had the documents drawn up on lovely pale green, rough-edged sheets of leaf-shaped parchment. Of course, all the important folk of the valley had to be included and so the scribe enlisted two helpers to complete the two-hundred seventeen invitations in time to be delivered the next day. Because Elrond's sons had commanded the work, not one of those involved imagined their Lord knew nothing of the venture.

TBC

 


	4. Chapter 4

# An Honourable Assassin

#### by erobey • un-beta'd •  _italics = thoughts_

## Strike Three

The Ball was set a mere three days away, barely enough time to arrange the details but the Twins dared not wait longer in case the Wood Elf was called away back to his gloomy forest, which everyone knew was in a constant state of war against the Wraiths in Dol Guldur. Besides, as long as there was plenty to drink and lots of food, nobody would care too much if the decorations and the entertainment were rather lacking. 

Lindir was absolutely in a panic of Valarian proportions, certain he was being punished by Elrond for that brief dalliance with his sons, and frantically tried to find musicians, magicians, thespians, jugglers and/or contortionists not already booked for other people's parties. He was not successful. In the end, he had to coax Glorfindel into presenting a stirring dramatisation of his heroic battle in which the guests would be induced to participate (how Lindir didn't know yet but supposed vaguely he'd have to drug the wine with potent hallucinogenic compounds). Of what form this coaxing took nobody had to guess for the minstrel spent the entirety of the following day in the spa trying to recover both his health and his flagging self-respect.

Lord Elrond, ensconced in his laboratory attempting to duplicate his recent success, was utterly oblivious to the entire affair.

As for the Twins, they were prepared to relax and await the fulfilment of their efforts, though they themselves were in truth expending very little of the effort. Yet, as is often the case, no sooner had they given up hope of running into their sylvan quarry than they started seeing him practically everywhere they looked. Maddeningly, this was always at a distance and always in the company of Erestor.

Taking his morning tea on the veranda beside the Evening Room, Elladan spied the two striding across the open fields far beyond the tailored grounds. They were returning from a hunt and both had a brace of birds thrown over the shoulder, laughing and talking congenially but not touching or flirting as far as he could tell. Just good friends, yes, that's what it looked like. He reported this to his brother and both took it as a positive sign.

At midmorning they were taking a long hike through the grounds when they reached an impressive overlook above one of the falls and heard lilting laughter below. Daring to lean out over the precarious lip of slippery stone, they spied Legolas and Erestor diving and swimming in the pools beneath the roaring falls. In haste the brothers scrambled down the cliff but it was the sort of outcrop that defied speedy descent and by the time they got to the bottom no one was there. In vain they cursed their bad luck and suddenly heard the same lovely voice above them. Looking up, they spied the seneschal pointing out various landmarks to the Wood Elf. While they'd been climbing off the promontory their elusive lover and his dangerous shadow had been scaling it. This time Erestor kept a hand on Legolas' shoulder as though fearful he might slip and fall. That the Wood Elf allowed it they took as a rather bad omen.

Next, Elrohir was in town purchasing a few new sex toys for he and his brother to try on their new lover, choosing a wide variety of implements in equally varied sizes, shapes, colours, and degrees of kinkiness since he'd only had one glimpse of the Wood Elf and couldn't accurately estimate his specific proportions, internal and external, or his taste in erotic games, when he spotted the unlikely couple coming out of the Society for the Preservation and Replication of Extreme Creations of Ultimate Mortality. It was an armoury specialising in Ancient Weaponry. The Wood Elf was carrying a truly evil-looking devise that resembled a spear but with multiple jutting blades and grotesque hooks shaped like hawks' bills sprouting from its top. Some of them had Jewelled pseudo-eyes. Erestor had a staff that was in fact a sort of axe with four right-angled heads at both ends. He swung it playfully at the Wood Elf who parried it casually with the vile spear; they laughed merrily as they passed by without ever noticing Elrohir was there. He reported that to Elladan and both fell into morose contemplation of what it could mean. 

And then at dinner that night they simply strolled into the family dining hall and sat down to eat as if they'd been doing so all along. Erestor gave the brothers a sneering, pitying sort of smirk and made the introductions.

"Oh, Legolas, these are Elrond's sons, Elladan and Elrohir. I don't believe you've met."

"Mae govannen," said Legolas politely, rising and giving a short bow and a pleasant smile. "I have heard much of you; your diligent work is lauded by my people."

"Thank you," Elrohir smiled, standing to reach across the table and offer his arm. "We've been hoping to meet you before the Ball. I'm Elrohir."

"Yes, I know," Legolas laughed as though he thought the idea that he couldn't tell them apart silly, which he did. "I received your invitation and that is most gracious of you, but unnecessary. I'm not here officially."

"Your presence is most certainly felt, Ernilen, officially or not," announced Elladan gallantly. He stood and held forth his hand. "We could not ignore such an unexpected pleasure."

Legolas' brows rose minutely as he took the proffered hand in a firm grip. His bright blue eyes took on the hard glint of steel as he looked them up and down. "You flatter me," he said quietly, the tone holding the cold, flat note of censure. "I'm sure the event will be most fitting and quite entertaining." He sat and returned his attention to Erestor. "What say you? Mayhap we should hold the sparring match tomorrow morning, for too much merry-making tends to dull the reflexes and leaves one ill with headache and nausea."

"Nay, not for you it doesn't and I am not so old that I can't curtail my drinking before reaching that level of inebriation. Yet it isn't a bad idea at that. Then we could spend the following day exploring the caverns."

"Valar! I can't say I want to go wandering in that labyrinth whilst suffering the after affects of one of the soirees for which Imladris is renowned," Legolas disagreed with a somewhat chagrined laugh.

"Are we renowned for great parties?" Elrohir tried to insinuate himself into their conversation. "I never heard that before."

"Renowned for superb hospitality," corrected Legolas with a serene smile of cool dismissal, "and a State Ball given for the benefit of a visiting foreigner is certainly one aspect of that celebrated graciousness." He turned back to the seneschal. "Why don't we plan on the morning at the spa to rest and recover and the afternoon at the caves. We can camp in the Chamber of the Moon Pool and make a meal of blind albino bass."

"A wonderful suggestion," agreed Elladan with enthusiasm. "I think we shall do the same; what do you say, muindor?"

"Aye, I cannot imagine a better itinerary for the day after the Ball. Would you mind if we join you?" Elrohir asked sweetly.

"Yes," said Erestor and "Not at all," said Legolas and both together, of course. They laughed and Erestor shrugged away his ire. "If you wish it, I do not object."

"Nay, I don't mind. The more the merrier. Besides, I want to clear the debris from that collapsed tunnel and we'll need help doing it."

"Collapsed tunnel?" said Elrohir, an uneasy edge to his voice. "Why would you want to disturb a passage Nature seems intent on having shut?"

"To see what's behind it, of course," Legolas smiled while below the table his foot toed Erestor's ankle. Erestor took the hint and played along, knowing full well there was no fallen ceiling with which to contend.

"Yes," he said, "the ancient lore tells of a Dragon that once had a nest in there. We want to find out if that's true."

"What is this nonsense? There has never been a Dragon in this region of Arda and well do you know it, Erestor." 

The voice announcing this caustic challenge in irritated and bewildered tones did not belong to either of Elrond's sons but to Elrond himself. He had come away from his lab at last, driven by hunger and recalling the news of a visitor, and arrived on silent feet at the threshold of the dining hall in time to overhear this preposterous statement. He stood, fists propped on his hips, regarding them in mild disfavour, grey eyes moving from one to the other until they came finally to rest on the fair face of the unknown stranger. His eyes popped wide. His lips parted and then shut. He stood rigid as his hands fell to his sides. He froze, emptied of thought, inundated by a wave of nostalgic deja vú.

"Adar?" said his sons in unison.

"Ah, Elrond, yes, the Dragon. Well, you know, it's something I heard from a peddler that came through Dunnland a century or two ago and…Oh, have you met Legolas yet?" Erestor stammered through this bizarre introduction as the Wood Elf slowly stood.

"Lord Elrond, it is a great honour to meet you at last," he said, bowing. "I have read with interest your treatise on the formation of alkyds in the soils of the Brown Lands. My own investigations point to the same conclusions and I hope it is not too much to enquire as to the progress of your endeavour?" This speech had the effect of releasing the noble Lord from his catatonic fit and a huge smile broke out over his features.

"Have you? I, too, have had the pleasure of perusing your articles in last year's edition of  _Hannas ar Istad_  (Wisdom and Knowledge). That you found the sludge and obtained a sample was heroic work, mellon, heroic work," he enthused, taking a chair next to Legolas and reaching for food. 

Legolas assisted, serving him and waving away the hovering servants except to snap his fingers and point at the wine, an accusing frown on his features to see it had not already been poured for the Master of the House, not wanting to interrupt the great lore-master's words. 

"There had to be a source, you see," Elrond was saying between bites, "and I was confident of it, but to have the actual proof…Well, it bolsters one's resolve. The critics have not been kind so I cannot thank you enough. Your findings completely vindicated my entire thesis." He absolutely beamed at his guest and looked him over well, pleased with what he saw. "I hope you do not take offence, but I had no idea you would be so young, based on the quality of the writing and the keen grasp of the science involved. I envisioned a First Age elder."

To this Legolas laughed brightly. "Nay, just a student at the very beginnings of knowledge, I'm afraid. Whatever comprehension I possess is largely due to the exhaustive studies you have made. If I am wise, it is but borrowed wisdom."

"Being young and properly brought up, you are compelled to exhibit modesty and it suits you," Elrond nodded approvingly. "Yet you have justly earned my admiration, please accept my genuine appreciation for your work."

"Thank you, Hîren," Legolas dipped his head politely but no one could miss the wide smile or the soft blush that transformed his face. "If it is not too bold to ask," he raised a set of very bold blue eyes, "perhaps after the meal you would allow me to visit your laboratory."

"Nothing would give me more pleasure," Elrond answered and reloaded his plate, pointing at Legolas' half-eaten food. "Is it not to your liking? I can have something else prepared for you."

"Oh, I am too excited to eat, perhaps later." He passed Elrond the dish of duck and held it while he stabbed up chunks of the succulent meat. He watched in fascination as the famous ellon chewed and swallowed, mesmerised as if the activity was the most enthralling thing he'd ever witnessed, and hung on every word the Elf Lord uttered. Between them they behaved as though there was no other person in the room. When they rose to leave, Legolas at last turned to Erestor and laid his fingers lightly on the seneschal's shoulder, a feathery touch, to be sure, but weighty with a degree of familiarity that could not be hidden. "Mellon, I am likely to become engrossed in the laboratory. Would you come and retrieve me for Moon Rise?"

"Of course, mellon," smiled Erestor, patting the fingers gently. "Go along and have your science lesson." He chuckled as Legolas practically floated out of the room in Elrond's wake, asking questions the meaning of which none of the dining hall's remaining occupants could comprehend. Glancing at the confused and dumbstruck Twins, Erestor felt a small spark of sympathy for them. Very small. "Don't worry, he'll still go to your grand party, but that is all you'll ever get him to do." Well, he didn't actually feel sorry for them, it is true, for their reputation as proficient but somewhat careless lovers was well known. Erestor left them, anticipating the planned Moon Rise ritual with Thranduil's lovely, intelligent son.

Alone, the brothers took themselves back to their floor of the house and skulked into their study where they threw themselves into their favourite chairs and sulked. After stewing in grim silence a time, Elrohir got up and retrieved a large decanter of highly intoxicating liquor, tossed the stopper across the room, took a huge swig, and passed the container to his brother as he resumed his seat.

"What in Mordor just happened?" he demanded.

"I was there but I can't seem to piece it together," Elladan shook his head and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, passing the bottle back.

"I'll tell you what happened," Elrohir pointed at his brother with the decanter, took a swallow, and repeated himself. "I'll tell you what happened; that Mirkwood fake just spurned us in favour of our Adar's dry discourse on soil chemistry." He handed the spirits off again.

"We shall never live this down."

"And Erestor's reaction was telling, oh yes."

"Aye, he didn't seem to mind being shunned."

"Would you if that delicious golden dream was going to spend the Moon Rise with you?"

"No."

"No."

The decanter became steadily emptier as they continued this morose discussion.

"I think we're done," sighed Elladan at last.

"What? I refuse to give up without ever trying."

"What's the use? If Erestor is so sure of his place that he can laugh off Legolas' obviously keen interest in Ada's pet project, then Lindir must be right. Ring or no ring, Legolas is his."

"Then why all the secrecy and hiding?"

"Maybe there wasn't any. Erestor might have told Ada he was having a guest over and he forgot about it."

"True, Ada is very distracted these days."

"Ada has been very distracted for years," corrected Elladan.

"No, you're forgetting Lindir's reaction and the way everyone else pretended not to know anything. And there's the Thranduil connection, too. No, something isn't quite right here and what kind of sons would we be if we let this Mirkwood prince make a fool of our Adar and shatter our kinsman's soul?" Elrohir decided it was time to resurrect the Noble Deed scenario.

"Then we proceed?"

"We proceed."

All they actually proceeded to do that night, however, was to get stinking drunk and fall asleep in their clothes sprawled awkwardly over the couches in the sitting room.

It was nearly dawn when Elladan awoke, head pounding, stomach churning, bladder burning, and neck aching. He groaned and dragged himself upright, belching a nasty smelling bubble of gas that made him groan and get up from the sofa to escape it. His clothes were wrinkled and reeked and clung to his sweaty skin, plus his leggings were all bunched up around an irritatingly hard erection constrained against his thigh. Another groan. Slowly, Elladan started discarding the garments and felt better once he was naked, though he glared at his cock, standing all straight and eager while he was poised between the need to vomit and the degree of pain doing so would cause his already throbbing scull. He rose unsteadily and headed for the balcony, reasoning that the cool, fresh air might help cure all three conditions, and lowered himself carefully into a chaise.

A light breeze caressed his naked skin and soothed his misery and when his hand found its way to his stiff shaft he suddenly felt much better. He decided what he needed was a pleasing fantasy and a gratifying release and chose the desirable and thus far unattainable Wood Elf to provide it. He wondered if Legolas liked to suck cock and decided that yes, of course he did, and would delight in sucking his. He gave another moan, softer and filled with longing as he imagined the graceful sylvan body poised above him, those delectable lips firmly seated round his aching penis, a hot wet tongue teasing his slit. His hand began to move faster and he was on the verge of orgasm when voices reached him from below. Instantly he stopped, fearful someone might overhear his noisy moment of exultant culmination during which he would surely sing out the Wood Elf's name.

"I'm sorry, Ernilen, I didn't know Elrond's sons would be here. Their presence is sure to complicate things."

Elladan's eyes widened and he sat up, for there was only one elven prince currently in Imladris, or in all of Arda for that matter, and his attention was instantly engaged. He did not recognise the speaker's voice and this made the words all the more cryptic and suspicious. The answering voice, however, was unmistakably Legolas'.

"Somewhat, yet their interest may work to my advantage. The mission is not compromised, mellon."

"Your confidence is inspiring, Ernilen. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just keep me apprised of Elrond's movements, as you have been doing. It is imperative that he remain aloof until the right moment. I don't want my purpose revealed too soon."

"As you wish. What about Erestor?"

A light laugh sounded. "Do not be concerned; I know how to handle Erestor."

That was more than Elladan could abide, for it was clear the Mirkwood prince was plotting some cruel blow against Elrond's House in retaliation for the old wounds given long before he could ever have been imagined, much less conceived. Hastily and silently he stole back inside, grabbed his shirt from the floor, and ran for the stairs, wrapping it about him as he went. Determined to confront this snake in peacock's feathers, he leaped from landing to landing, clearing the three flights in desperate speed, but when he reached the courtyard beneath his rooms there was no one there. The conspirators had concluded their secret council and separated, vanishing into the pre-dawn darkness.

"Naneth nestagel galadh nâr! Nestegi sarnas!" (Mother f*cking tree rat! F*ck a pile of rocks!) he shouted and slammed his fist against an innocent tree trunk.

"Elladan!" Elrond's shocked, outraged voice boomed through the air and his son spun to face him, shaking his hand from the pain of hitting the resilient bark. "What vile spirit has possessed you to make you utter such sickening profanity in our home?" Elrond sniffed, his nose wrinkling in severe displeasure as he eyed his eldest from the crown of tangled hair to the shirt tied haphazardly about his waist to the tips of his bare toes. "You've been drinking," he sighed and shook his head sadly, all anger gone. "I thank the Valar your mother does not know how low you have sunk. Sometimes I despair of your future, ion. What am I to do? How can I open your eyes to the darkness surrounding your spirit?"

"Nay, Ada, you don't understand. It's true I was drinking but it was hours ago and I've slept it off, mostly, and when I awoke I overheard that Mirkwood spy plotting against you and Erestor. He's Thranduil's son, Ada, and he's here for revenge." Elladan gripped his father's shoulders tight and peered into his eyes, willing him to believe.

"Elladan," Elrond smiled, eyes becoming misty at his son's words, and he returned the grip, proud and yet saddened, for this was nonsense Elladan spoke no matter his loyal and true heart. "Ion, I know whose son he is. Legolas is not here to avenge his father's honour, but I am moved by your fealty." He transferred his hand to Elladan's arm and tugged him toward the house. "Come inside; you have had a nasty dream due to the influence of dwarven spirits. Have I not warned you about over-indulgence?"

"But Ada, I only wanted to protect you…He's a sneaky little snake, that Legolas, and we've a traitor here in our midst, someone who takes orders only from him and…"

"I know your intent was honourable," soothed Elrond. "Do not be troubled; Legolas is here because he became ill and needs rest. That's why he's been staying apart from everyone and so dependent upon Erestor. They are much alike. He isn't going to hurt anyone, ion, I promise you." He led his son back to his rooms and tucked him into bed amid mild protests and continued indictments against the woodland visitor.

"Please, Ada, don't be taken in by that angelic face and his alluring form, nor by his pretence to interest in your studies," Elladan implored one last time. "Whatever he's told you is just to cover up his real plans. I tell you I heard him order this servant to keep you under watch and report on your movements. Is that the talk of a sickly ellon in need of healing?"

Elrond sighed again and sat on the edge of the bed, gazing through the half-lit gloom into his son's worried grey eyes. He reached out and ran his hand gently over the mass of mussed hair, the touch filled with love.

"Listen to me, Elladan. I am much older and over the course of my long life, many have tried to fool me with false wiles and lying tongues. You must trust that I know the difference between a genuine heart and a deceitful one."

"Nay, Ada, not this one. He's not what he…" Elladan couldn't finish for his father's fingers closed over his lips.

"Enough. Your heart is true and I am honoured by your deep concern for me and for Erestor, but I am able to handle this on my own. If it will ease your heart, consider me duly warned. Now be at peace and try to rest until the effects of that potent brew wear off." Elrond rose and walked into the study where Elrohir had awakened and was peering at him in confused dread, having overheard some of their talk. "That goes for you as well, Elrohir. Rest and renew yourselves, for I understand you've arranged a grand Ball in honour of our guest. He will not be there, but as hosts you must."

He left them then, heading once more for the laboratory. Yet Elrond was no fool and would not discount the words he'd heard. Much as he disliked it, he decided he would have to put Thranduil's son to the test.

TBC

 


	5. Chapter 5

# An Honourable Assassin

#### by erobey • un-beta'd •  _italics = thoughts_

## Assassin's Creed

Now the Twins were not about to roll over and go to sleep just when all Angband was about to explode, spewing evil and destruction amid the populace of the fair valley of the Bruinen, or at least of the Last Homely House, which was more important since the targets of this unprecedented malice lived there. This wasn't just a grudge or a score to settle or a way to recoup injured pride; it was hate of Feänorion proportions. They had to stop it, with or without their father's co-operation. Elladan and Elrohir rose, bathed, put on their armour, and went to hunt down that unscrupulous Wood Elf. 

Recalling something about a sparring match, the brothers thought they had a good idea of where to find the scoundrel and headed for the training grounds, swords belted on and daggers stowed in stealthy pockets. They arrived to find the place deserted for as yet there was insufficient light for any of the novice warriors to be practising and not quite the hour for the changing of the guard. Not to be put off, they waited.

Time went by and at last birds started chirping as Anor crept above the horizon. The pages and squires arrived and started putting things in order for the day's events, nodding respectfully to the imposing Lords and silently pitying whoever was supposed to spar against the grim and perilous Orc-slayers this morning. The postern was opened amid the galloping clamour of a troop of cavalry as the night watch came home. No sooner had they entered than the morning patrol headed out the same gate. The weapons master arrived and clanged on the great gong until a bevy of young recruits shuffled out of the barracks mess hall, hastily swallowing down the last of their morning meal and shying badly as they approached and had to pass by the stern and glowering countenances of the identical brothers. It became obvious that once again the Assassin of Sirion had evaded the Sons of Elrond.

_This is useless; they are not holding the competition here._

_Aye, but where then?_

_Your guess is as good as mine._

_Well, we need to find them. Erestor has no idea what he's befriended. For all we know, Legolas could be murdering him right now._

_Don't be an idiot; Erestor's an Assassin. No one can defeat him. In fact, perhaps he does know what he's dealing with and is dispatching the diabolical proto-orc even now._

That made the brothers feel better and they smiled in a way that made those nearby feel sick. Still, the Twins wanted to know for certain that the problem had been dealt with appropriately and it was distinctly possible that Erestor was too enamoured of the cunning Wood Elf to kill him. It would be up to Elladan and Elrohir to defend their kinsman's heart and the honour of their House. Not that they could actually kill him, of course; they were not Assassins. Still, they were sure Legolas could be run out of the valley before he could conclude his fiendish scheme. Few elves had enough gumption to stand up to one of them, much less both together. Thus they decided they needed to locate Erestor after all. 

_How? Nobody seems to know where Erestor's been hiding this impudent little tree rat._

Nonsense, somebody has to know. 

In the next instant the answer came to them and at once they stormed back to the house, furious to have been lied to by the staff. They banged through the kitchen and slammed open the doors to the employees' refectory, making everyone inside jump in fear and drop whatever they were holding in their hands at that moment. There were numerous cries of pain and a lot of mopping up of hot tea. The Twins ignored the ruckus. Faces dark and eyes flashing, they surveyed the room until they found the culprit. Arms raised and fingers pointing, they shouted at the betrayer to come forth. Faelon cowered low in his seat as his fellows cleared off, fleeing the oncoming warriors.

"You!" hissed the brothers together. "Where is Erestor?"

"I…I cannot tell you," stammered Faelon, face wan and body trembling as the menacing Lords loomed over him. "Erestor made me swear. He…he's an Assassin, you know, and sworn oaths are very important to him."

"Do you think," said Elladan coldly, "he meant you to keep that oath on pain of death?"

"What?!" squeaked Faelon, eyes ricocheting between the matched expressions of icy rage. "You…you wouldn't; that's kin-slaying."

"You're no kin of mine," snarled Elrohir, tipping Faelon's face toward him with the point of his dagger, "but Erestor is and your inordinate discretion has placed him in terrible danger."

"If we don't stop this, something dreadful could happen to him. If something dreadful does happen to him, then something worse will happen to you."

"Guaranteed."

Poor Faelon didn't know what to do. Erestor would send him packing if he disobeyed orders. He'd be disgraced and no other realm would hire him for a position of importance. He really liked the prestige of being the personal secretary to the Assassin of Sirion. Still, the Twins would put him in the infirmary for a month if he defied their wrath. Elladan calmly unsheathed his sword and laid it across the remains of the breakfast to help him decide. The secretary relented, whispering out the hidden location and then promptly keeling over onto the floor in a dead swoon. 

Much reassured about their power to incite dread and stupefying terror in the hearts of lesser elves, the brothers left him there and headed off toward one of the less civilised sections of the valley. The directions were accurate and in due time they came to a clearing where a sizable compound had been neatly constructed, consisting of three architecturally appealing buildings, a small stable, a paddock in which two horses stood munching on grass, and a training arena. They'd never have known the place was here, so well was it obscured, and it was obvious it had been here for quite some time. It was also obvious what it was here to provide.

The training arena was not empty and the match was well under way. The brothers halted at the sidelines and stared in astonished disbelief and morbid fascination, unable to avert their eyes for the sight was grotesquely compelling. Legolas and Erestor were duelling with the deadly weapons with which Elrohir had seen them in town. Nay, not duelling, nor sparring, nor testing their skill against one another; they were attacking with the full frenzy of a pitched battle. The Twins could only gape in horror as the two spun, jabbed, swiped, parried, brandished, battered, sliced, razed, cut, and mauled each other. 

They were naked, paired in a whirling dance of destruction, a blur of lean, athletic bodies streaked with freely flowing blood, gold and ebony hair whipping through the air, entwining and then separating as they leaped and lunged, ducked and rolled, kicked and blocked. They gave mighty shouts of rage and fury, blasted one another with vile insults, and loosed agonised grunts of pain, all mixed with the horrible sound of blades rending flesh. How they could continue in light of the violence each was perpetrating upon the other's person was mystifying.

Yet it became clear within a matter of seconds that they were not trying to kill each other. For all the flying blood and clashing steel, there was a definite lack of dismembered body parts littering the reddening sand. The moves and counter-moves were graceful, balletic, even beautiful and the cuts made, though placed in areas the brothers knew to be mortal zones, were shallow and superficial. Not even the voluminous tresses suffered any serious injury, though every now and then a wisp of black or yellow floated through the swirling cloud of crimson dust. This, when it happened, seemed a grander coup than any laceration of fragile flesh.

Then suddenly the clear note of a gong rang out and the two stopped in mid-strike, bowed politely, and retreated to opposite sides of the arena.

Glorfindel was waiting in Erestor's corner and carefully bathed his friend's wounds and applied a healing salve. He urged the seneschal to drink water laced with miruvor and then made him sit and close his eyes to gather his strength, all the while murmuring encouragement and giving hints about the best strategy to use.

Legolas was alone and simply crouched next to the wall, dumped a bucket of water over his bleeding body, swallowed down an entire water-skin of unknown contents, and then put himself in a healing trance during which he sang an eerie mantra beseeching Tulkus for strength to endure beyond such physical limitations as blood loss, broken bones, gaping wounds, and gouged eyes to emerge victorious over his opponent.

"Eru's Arse," said Elrohir softly.

"Bugger a Balrog," hissed Elladan.

"You know what this means," droned Elrohir.

"Another bloody Assassin," they groaned in concert.

Before they could do anything to stop them, not that there was anything they could do that would stop them, the gong sounded again and the combatants instantly returned to the heat of battle, from serene stillness to unleashed fury in the passing of a heartbeat. As they watched Thranduil's Golden Assassin of Greenwood dancing his duet of death with Erestor, the brothers knew they were thoroughly out-classed. Legolas was so far out of their league it made them feel small and inadequate. The ground was getting slick with blood and the Twins turned away, sickened with disappointment and disgust. 

Their Noble Deed to save Erestor's fragile heart and spare Imladris a serious comeuppance forgotten, the brothers trudged back home, went back to their rooms, cast off their armour, threw themselves into their favourite chairs, and sulked. After stewing in silence for a time, Elladan rose and retrieved a bottle of highly intoxicating liquor, opened it, drank deeply, and passed it to Elrohir as he resumed his seat.

"That's it; we're done," sighed Elladan.

"Aye, Erestor can have him."

"Absolutely nothing in our repertoire of sexual tactics that could ever match the impassioned ferocity on display back there in the woods."

"True. Wonder what kinds of things someone like that gets up to?"

"Do you really want to know?" They shuddered in unison, not entirely from disgust, but decided it wasn't worth risking their lives to find out. What they'd already seen was more than enough and probably sufficient to get them killed if either Assassin ever discovered their spying.

"Assassins!" Elladan spat, leaning forward to wrench the bottle from his brother who seemed intent upon keeping it.

"Who would have guessed it, an Assassin in Mirkwood," Elrohir shook his head. "I guess we understand now how Thranduil holds the Wraiths at bay." They drank in silence for a while.

Elladan and Elrohir were not squeamish about warfare and killing. They had no qualms about slaughtering huge numbers of orcs, evil men, or wargs, and would willingly go up against Nazgûl if the occasion arose. They would never, however, spill the blood of another elf. The kin-slayings were too much a part of their history to ever consider it. Assassins were a different breed of warrior altogether. Or so they'd been told. Or, rather, so the legends and lore and myths maintained. Those who really knew about Assassins, their father for one and Erestor another, didn't talk about them. Those who feared the idea of Assassins had plenty to say and lots of stories to tell.

"Assassins!" Elladan burst out again. "Obsessed with killing, mad with blood-lust, insane."

"Aye, they kill because they really like it not because they have to."

"Not like us."

"No, not like us at all."

"And just because they're better at it than any other elf, man, dwarf, balrog, orc, uruk, Wraith, or various and sundry demons, they think they're above the Laws of Decency and Honour." 

It was said Assassins were machines of death and destruction, trained from childhood in so many ways of fighting, taught to master so many different kinds of weapons that once grown to adulthood they were unstoppable, unbeatable. Only another Assassin could hope to survive against one. Upon reaching maturity, they only got better and more experienced as the years passed. There was a ranking among them, determined by contests such as that taking place in the hidden compound, shrouded in mystery for the precepts and customs of their obscure Order were secret.

Filled with youthful, starry-eyed admiration for their tutor, Elladan and Elrohir had hoped to be trained as Assassins when they were very young, but their Nana had put a stop to that. Their Ada had agreed, saying it was not what any parents would want for their sons because it was such a horrible and bloody lifestyle. Erestor had bluntly told them their spirits were too weak and their bodies would never withstand the strain. They were simply not Assassin material. The brothers naturally feigned relief that they would not have to become cold-blooded, unstoppable killers, but this was a ruse.

"Vile! Disgusting!"

"Useful folk in a nasty war, though."

"Now I understand how Thranduil holds the Wraiths at bay."

"You said that already."

Few in number now, in the Time Before Time the Creed of the Assassins was much revered and to be named to this elite brotherhood was an honour unsurpassed. Back then, when Melkor himself roamed across Middle-earth with his legions of evil adherents, Tulkus hand-picked the first Assassins and trained them to be Iluvatar's Death Commandos. Until the Valar captured their renegade brother, Assassins were the only people skilled enough, brave enough, and crazy enough to stand against him. They preserved life on Arda for centuries uncounted. They diminished in the way all things elvish diminished and for the same reason: Melkor turned them against one another during the bloody days of the kin-slayings of the First Age.

Elladan and Elrohir had believed Erestor to be the very last, for so their father had told them. They were more than a little terrified of their kinsman yet also justly proud, for any realm with even one Assassin attached to its service was a realm to be feared and courted as an invaluable ally. The bottle went back and forth several times and eventually fell empty to the floor. Elrohir got up to find another and the activity must have stimulated his circulation, rejuvenating his dulled mental processes somewhat. Denied access to the Golden Assassin of Greenwood, the Noble Deed resurfaced; after all, they had to save face somehow.

"Hold. what if Legolas is here to do more than break Erestor's heart?"

"You think Thranduil sent him to kill Erestor?"

"I do. From what I saw, Erestor has met his match, muindor."

"Nay! He wouldn't."

"He might."

"Why would Thranduil suddenly want revenge after all this time?"

"Obviously, he didn't have an Assassin before. Imagine, training up his own son in such a despicable profession just to avenge himself on Erestor."

They imagined it. No doubt the amount of highly intoxicating liquor they'd consumed made this possible without revealing exactly how ridiculous such a scenario was.

"What are we going to do about it?"

"Nothing we can do. We're no match for an Assassin."

"Legolas is out there testing our dear old tutor, finding all his weaknesses and blind-spots, learning how to kill him."

"We have to do something."

"There will be war between Mirkwood and Imladris."

"I am not going to kill elves, not even Wood Elves."

"Nor I."

"We have to tell Ada."

Elrond was in the Laboratory where he and his assistant were consulting the articles Legolas had written, along with the original results of his extensive analysis of the putrid sludge he'd gone to such pains to obtain, which the Wood Elf had been happy to provide the night before, and comparing them to the recent results of the Lore-master's experiments. They seemed excited in an understated kind of way and looked up smiling when the Twins knocked. 

"We need to speak with you Adar. Alone."

"It is urgent."

Elrond's expression altered immediately into a harried frown; he knew the indications of over-indulgence as well as anyone and his sons' agitated auras, high colour, and the scent of alcohol quite gave it away. It wasn't even noon yet and his sons were well on the way to drunken inebriation. Before he could answer the assistant spoke.

"I'll begin the preparations for another trial, Hîren," he said and turned to leave but Elladan refused to let him pass.

"You're the spy!" he shouted, grabbing the ellon by the arm. "Don't try to lie; I recognise your voice."

"What? I am a student of lore, like your father," protested the assistant, trying to free himself in vain.

"Elladan! Let him go at once!" Elrond took his assistant's other arm and tugged him loose from Elladan's hold.

"No, Ada, this is the one who was plotting with Legolas in the courtyard beneath my balcony last night," Elladan explained. "He knows everything!"

"Talk, you sneaking spy!" Elrohir bellowed, looming forward until he was mere inches from the assistant's frightened countenance.

"Enough! Stop this!" Elrond shouted, shoving the accused elf behind him. "Go to the study and I will hear what you have to say there, but this histrionic scene is inexcusable." He was just winding up to deliver a long harangue against the evils inherent in excessive consumption of strong drink when Glorfindel ran into the room, hair and garments smeared with crimson gore.

"Lord Elrond, you're needed in the infirmary at once," he announced and promptly ran back out.

A second of tense silence passed and then the assistant unleashed a howl of misery and sorrow. As he pushed past the Lords of Imladris, his panic stricken voice followed him out. "No! Legolas, Ernilen, you were supposed to wait!"

TBC

 


	6. Chapter 6

# An Honourable Assassin

#### by erobey • un-beta'd •  _italics = thoughts_

## History Lesson

Elrond overtook his assistant and reached the infirmary with due speed and a heart filled with foreboding, having instantly grasped that at least some of his sons' outlandish claims were accurate. His spirit quailed at the thought of Legolas plotting against Erestor at the behest of Thranduil. Knowing the power of his kinsman, there could be only one outcome to such a confrontation and Elrond had to absorb a pang of guilt. He did not doubt he would find Thranduil's son brutally slain and, having failed to act on his son's suspicions, Legolas' death thus lay fully upon his soul. Knowing the Code of the Assassins, he also expected to find Erestor expiring from self-inflicted wounds, having been forced to murder the son of the one elf in all Arda whom he loved.

It was the kind of story that became legend; the kind of story that spawned wars.

Glorfindel was waiting and led him to the surgery and there Elrond froze in the doorway. Motionless on the examination tables the two elves lay, naked and bloody from a myriad of ghastly injuries, deathly still, no sign of breath or life. Two arms stretched poignantly across the small space between the cots, their hands loosely clasped, a small puddle of vermilion pooled beneath the entwined digits. It was a horrible and heart-rending sight. Focusing on Legolas, Elrond felt his spirit begin to rip apart as tears collected in his eyes. At once he was inundated with deja vú, the House of Healing's antiseptic environment dissolving into the grubby, blood-stained canvas walls of a field hospital.

The shelter was overcrowded with injured and maimed elves in all states of languishing agony, their moans and cries filled the air, the combined stink of gaping wounds and rancid terror enough to make one swoon. Everywhere little knots of healers tried desperately to maintain the tenuous connection between hroä and feä; everywhere the Spirit Hunters were gathered in little clusters intoning the Rites of the Dead. Everywhere kin and loved ones tried to force a way through and were rebuffed by aides trying to maintain order. Those who pushed past wandered in shock amid the rows upon rows of expiring elves, stepping over them and inching between them, eyes searching for familiar faces while dreading to find them. When they did, their wails of sorrow and rage pierced the air far more often than gasps of relief and tears of joy.

Fully two thirds of Oropher's people died that day, most cut down in the scorched and barren plains before Oroduin, the rest dragged off here, this befouled and tattered shelter the last comfort they would know on the journey to Mandos. Few, so few of these would survive. Elrond darted under the flapping tent and upset a swarm of flies. They buzzed in furious annoyance but quickly settled again, these smallest of vultures keeping hungry vigil over the dying. He moved awkwardly among the ranks of dismembered bodies, evaded reaching arms and pleading voices, senses dulled by the horrific impact of so many casualties, unable to encompass it, unwilling to acknowledge it. He was looking for one face, one body, praying silently not to find him, promising Manwë insanely impossible feats of courage and sacrifice if he would only not have to see this one face, this one elf in here. Then he saw it, that swath of vibrant golden hair, that glorious mane so unlike any he'd ever beheld, and his heart turned over in exultant joy.

Thranduil lay not among the wounded but knelt beside one of the cots, whole and unharmed, begrimed and covered in vile black gore from the innumerable orcs he'd slain, the putrid fluids crossed here and there with a vivid streak of garish crimson, clutching the hand of the Elven King, Oropher, his father. Head lowered to catch the last failing words arising form the expiring ellon's mouth, Thranduil's fair face was turned toward Elrond but his eyes were closed, vibrant blue obscured behind lashes pale and golden, comely features pinched with strain and fatigue. Tears coursed down the young prince's cheeks as he nodded, gave an answer Elrond could not hear, pressed his father's hand to his lips and then tight against his heart. His head drooped and his shoulders heaved as grief whelmed over his defences; Oropher had died.

Elrond at once hastened to reach him, desperate to be at Thranduil's side in this time of sorrow and need, filled with urgent compassion and burning hunger to envelope his beloved in protective arms and healing love. A quiet voice reached his hearing as he neared, the words sufficient to halt him and turn his heart to ashes.

"Thranduil, beloved, come away and let the Spirit Hunters prepare him now."

It was Erestor, clad in dark leather from head to toe, a tall inky shadow in black armour painted everywhere with slick wet smears, his pale face grimy with sweat and flecked with the filth of killing. Yet his midnight eyes gleamed, the light of his soul nearly as bright as the shining blade of his mighty sword. Its point dragged upon the ground, lax in the loose grip of a bleeding arm, the other hand firmly seated on the shoulder of the grieving Sindarin prince. His raven hair fell over the kneeling ellon, mixing with Thranduil's sunlit strands, the contrast of black and gold beautiful, the tableau infused with the potency of the lovers' emotions. Elrond suddenly found the scene inappropriately erotic. 

"Erestor!" Thranduil lifted his pained and bewildered visage equally marred with dirt, a thin ribbon of darker brown denoting a healing scratch across his cheek. "He wouldn't listen to me, why? He's…my Ada is…dead?" A gasp followed the word and he leaned toward Erestor as the Assassin took the step necessary to pull the prince against him.

"I know. Be at peace, no more could you do. Oropher chose his fate with open eyes. He would have us honour his courage rather than mourn his passing." The Assassin smiled as gently as he could, pulled just faintly at the prince's sagging shoulder. "Come away, beloved."

Elrond inhaled a sharp breath and his kinsman turned slightly, dark eye flashing warning as it fell upon him, his battered frame exuding a subtle sense of menace as the grip on the hilt of the sword tightened. Slowly, painfully, heavily Thranduil lumbered to his feet and leaned hard upon Erestor, though it was the Assassin who was injured, pressed his face into the midnight tresses, and loosed a feral howl of anguish. Erestor held him and murmured some unheard words of courage and consolation against his lover's ear. 

Thranduil straightened, raised his head, met the onyx eyes and nodded once. They began moving through the litter of dead and dying elves, Thranduil unable to watch as the Spirit Hunters came, chanting their charms and prayers, and collected his father's remains. Out into the sunlight they walked, still close but no longer linked arm in arm; the glory of the day defied the grim and bitter legacy of the Wood Elves' lot. What remained of Oropher's warriors stood in listless clumps, eyes dull, spirits stunned. Never had they seen war like this; never had they experienced death on this scale. They looked to Thranduil expectantly for news of their King, none suspecting he could really be dead.

Before he could begin to assemble the words to speak such a horrific announcement, Galion galloped into the milling crowd leading the last of the woodland soldiers. A mere handful, twelve in number and four of them draped senseless over their horses' necks. Aides came and caught them ere they fell to the ground. The seneschal dismounted and came to Oropher's son; what he did next sealed the fate of the Assassin of Sirion and the Herald of the High King, both. Galion knelt before his Lord, head bowed in respect and sorrow.

"Hail, Thranduil Oropherion, King of Greenwood the Great. May his reign see the remaking of Arda and endure beyond the changing of the world." This proclamation snatched a collective gasp from the surrounding elves and made Thranduil utter an incoherent cry. He staggered forward and grabbed at Galion's shoulder, shocked, comprehension of his terrible doom gathering in blue eyes still wet with tears.

"Nay! All?" he choked out, voice stricken, heart broken. He reached behind him and clutched Erestor's wrist. "My brothers, too? I am the last?"

"Aye." Galion rose and clasped his King's shoulders, unable to hide his own grief but equally unable to ignore the reality facing his people now. "Come, there is much to discuss, Aranen." His amber eyes flickered to Erestor briefly, an entire lecture contained in the short connection. As he led Thranduil away, the Wood Elves knelt in their passing, hearts troubled and spirits darkened, murmuring sad, quiet words of bewildered fealty to their new King.

Erestor stood still and watched them go. Thranduil was immediately ringed by guards and followed by the entirety of the remaining able-bodied troops. He never looked back. The Assassin of Sirion sheathed his sword and turned, finding Elrond there. His mouth curled in an ugly, snarling caricature of a grin.

"Well, we have both lost him, then. I suppose there is vindication for you in that. Bind my arm, mellon; there is killing to do."

"Hîren?" 

Glorfindel's voice invaded the memory and recalled Elrond to the present. Only a few seconds had elapsed in silence as he remained rooted on the threshold and Elrond met the warrior's eyes warily, gathering what he could of courage for he must face this tragedy. With a heavy heart he entered only to be suddenly and rudely shoved aside by his assistant, who raced to the prince's bedside and fell to his knees, frantically calling the Wood Elf's name. Elrond felt sick; what could he say to Thranduil?

Elladan and Elrohir arrived next, halting in the doorway where Glorfindel's menacing bulk effectively checked their progress. They gasped in concert at the ghoulish display on the examination tables, sharing wide-eyed looks of dread and wonder before addressing the Balrog-slayer in faint and frightened tones.

"Are they…gone?"

"What? Nay!" Glorfindel glared at the brothers in exasperation. Sometimes he felt the Lord's sons were a tad slow.

"Then," Elrohir steeled himself, "is Erestor dead?"

"Of course not," Glorfindel scoffed. "He's an Assassin; can't be killed by anything less than Vala or Evil Maia."

"By the Stars! Then he's assassinated the Mirkwood prince!" Elladan's voice teemed with awed horror. "What will happen, Glorfindel?"

"Are we at war yet?" demanded Elrohir.

"Erestor hasn't assassinated anyone, you idiots!" Glorfindel reached out to land cuffing blows simultaneously upside identical heads, eliciting identical shouts of pained annoyance. "They battled themselves to exhaustion. The Rules state that if neither contender can return to the ring at the gong, then the match is a draw. You see before you a draw." He shrugged. "It's never happened before. I wasn't sure what to do and they'd both lost so much blood I deemed it best to bring them back here and let Elrond see to them."

Elrond turned sharply and eyed him with confusion. "Rules? What are you talking about?" He still had Elladan's accusation and the grim past on the mind. "Are you trying to tell me this is the result of some kind of sparring competition?"

"No, not a sparring match, Hîren," said the assistant. "Ernilen? Can you hear me?" He bent low and put his ear close to the Wood El's lips and presently a huge smile transformed his worried features. "Praise Tawar!" he exclaimed and then stood straight, pride and affection emanating from his glowing aura, and bowed low to his prince. "Hail, Legolas, Assassin of Imladris." A weary groan answered and the hand not clasped to Erestor's lifted briefly.

Glorfindel, knowing something more about what was happening, decided the Twins had no business being there and ushered them out, but ere they were beyond ear-shot their father's query reached them:

"Assassin of Imladris? He's an Assassin? But if so then surely you mean Greenwood."

"Nay, Assassins retain in the title the place in which the title was earned," explained the assistant.

"Stop pushing, Glorfindel, and let us go back to the infirmary," insisted Elladan. "We know Legolas is up to something and that assistant is his lackey! We must not leave them alone with Adar."

"Valar! You two smell like the tap room floor of an ale house!" Glorfindel accused, shoving them further from him as he herded them down the hall. "Perhaps that explains the stupidity of your accusations. Legolas has no intention of harming anyone in Imladris, especially your father."

"How can you say so?" demanded Elrohir. "And what were you doing at the hidden compound?"

Glorfindel stopped and laid a heavy hand on each Twin's shoulder, his features dark with outrage. "How do you know of that? What have you seen?"

"Nothing!" said Elladan, but "Everything!" said Elrohir, together of course, and so they were suddenly at odds and turned on one another.

"You dolt! We weren't to reveal what we saw," shouted Elladan.

"Why not? How are we to get to the bottom of it if we don't take some kind of action?" hissed Elrohir.

"Enough!" bellowed Glorfindel and again rapped their heads with the heels of his hands. "I should take you two to the arena and let you sort it out there, but you'd kill each other by accident and Elrond would have my hide." He sighed dramatically. "I suppose I'll have to tell you the whole story."

Back in the House of Healing, Elrond's assistant had taken over tending Erestor's wounds and brightly suggested that Lord Elrond might wish to carry Legolas to a more private room to treat his hurts, the prince being of such exalted rank and a guest of the realm. Erestor, regaining consciousness at this point, agreed with the suggestion and smiled fondly at Legolas as he finally let go the archer's fingers. Confused but gladdened to find neither his kinsman nor the lovely young Wood Elf dead, Elrond did exactly that. Legolas, too exhausted to manage more than a soft, dewy-eyed expression, focused it upon Elrond and suppressed the moans being lifted and carried might otherwise elicit.

Now the great healer was painstakingly sewing up the many lacerations covering nearly every inch of skin on Legolas' body, using teeny tiny stitches and his own hair to ensure there would be no scars. Yet if he'd doubted his assistant's exultant announcement before, the learned lore-master could no longer. Even as he worked the injuries were closing up and healing on their own, far faster than possible for an ordinary elf, the legendary vitality of the Assassin's breed no legend after all. Elrond met the bright and smiling blue eyes, though Legolas' face was still pale and drawn in weary fatigue, and lifted enquiring brows. 

"Assassin, eh? When did all this come about?"

"Suilad, Elrond," Legolas said and yawned hugely. He stretched very cautiously, reaching down with one hand to make sure there was no damage to any facet of his genitalia. Not that Erestor would ever target those vital parts on purpose, but they'd both become rather woozy toward the end. "Today at dawn we commenced the final trials. I passed!" he grinned and slowly pushed himself up on his elbows, a bit self-conscious to find himself naked before the mighty elven Lord he so admired and respected. "Very high marks, too. Valar! I'm so tired I could sleep for a month. What are you doing?" He reached for the dark strand of hair linking him to the needle in the healer's hands.

"Oh, well, I was healing you," Elrond shrugged and removed the neat sutures. "Seems you don't need my help."

"I wouldn't say that," Legolas replied, a bare hint of a rosy glow gathering in the tips of his ears and the pinnacle of his penis, though he was as yet too depleted for more than that. "I would love a soak in the spa and a long nap in the sauna. Do you think you could accompany me? I feel terribly weak."

"Of course," Elrond's brows rose even higher. Surely he was not imagining that winsome note of desire in the Wood Elf's voice or those initial stirrings of arousal. Indeed, given the amount of blood lost, Legolas' state of excitement must be very high to promote any bodily response at all. Well, well! He could not repress a smile.

Yet as he stood to aid the young Assassin from the bed, Elladan's words returned to him. If Legolas was really in love with Erestor, he would not be entertaining randy thoughts about Elrond. At once the lore-master's heart fell, fearing a convoluted repetition of ancient history. He would have to learn the truth, no matter how devastating it would be to his kinsman, and he knew only one sure way to do it.

TBC

 


	7. Chapter 7

# An Honourable Assassin

#### by erobey • un-beta'd •  _italics = thoughts_

 

## The Truth Revealed - sort of

Elrond brought Legolas one of the simple robes and a pair of the open sandals kept in the healing wards and watched him put them, clothing his nakedness and the beauty of his slender form, yet somehow the minimal covering added to his allure. Knowing what was hidden and titillated by the subtle hint of desire in his argent aura, Elrond wished he'd looked more fully and the idea of taking the garment back arose. There wasn't any way to justify it, though, and so he thought ahead to the spa with anticipation, for then Legolas would reveal himself once more. 

_More fully than he supposes._

The Lord of Imladris knew he could not put off the inevitable, no matter how fascinating this young prince was. He had to delve the warrior's heart and lay bare his plot before anyone got hurt. He noticed all the wounds were fully closed, all visible evidence of the terrible violence of the Assassin's Trials vanished, yet the Wood Elf was definitely drained, moving with slow and sluggish motion so that Elrond had to support him as they walked through the grounds. Indeed, this might be the only opportunity to catch him in so reduced a state and that should make everything much easier. Elrond had never tried to interrogate an Assassin before, being that until now Erestor was the only one in Middle-earth and he was sworn to serve Eärendil's House.

Legolas remained quiet and Elrond was too lost in his concerns to try and maintain conversation. Once confronted, how would this newly ordained Assassin react? Elrond was not worried for his safety; he had Vilya, but what would become of Erestor? Mentally he prepared for the worst: sending his kinsman over sea, devastated for a second time by these inconstant Sindarin royals. A spike of anger shot up through his heart; Thranduil had first cast him off then turned his back on Erestor. It wouldn't have been so bad, being rejected in favour of his kinsman, if Thranduil hadn't spurned him, too.

Well, that was a lie; it had been absolutely horrible to lose the Sindarin prince to Erestor and only Gil-galad's intervention had kept them from a bloody duel that would have left Elrond severely maimed and the Assassin of Sirion crippled by guilt. When Thranduil gathered the remnant of his people and departed the bloody fields of Morannon, he did not ask Erestor to join him. He must marry, he'd said, and raise up a family. A death-bed promise to his father, he'd said. For the good of Greenwood, he'd said, and then he just left. Despite his scoffing contempt for such cold-hearted dealings, Elrond ended up doing pretty much the same thing after Gil-galad wrenched a similar death-bed promise from him. Of the three, only Erestor remained alone, unloved and unwanted.

It was a long walk from the infirmary to the spa and Legolas leaned more and more on the healer, his stride becoming ever shorter, his gait shuffling almost to the point of stumbling. Elrond at last took his arm and wrapped it across his shoulders, pulling the prince tight against him. Mere centimetres from the comely face, his eyes studied pale, parted lips, moist and inviting, then met the ellon's clear azure gaze. Legolas smiled, a radiant expression that held both a touch of fatigue and a glimmer of mirth.

"Thank you," he said. "I find this more wearing than I supposed."

"Think nothing of it. If you wish to rest, we can…"

"No, no, let's press on. I will rest in the delicious heat of the sauna."

They trudged along.

Elrond began to feel the strain as Legolas transferred even more of his weight to the legendary healer. Then suddenly he gave a soft cry and his knees buckled; Elrond caught him to keep him from falling, hoisting him up in his arms with a grunt. Legolas wound lean arms round his neck and smiled, resting his head on Elrond's shoulder with a contented sigh. The lore-master was non-plussed and found his heart beating rather faster than normal. He knew not what else to do but carry on and so he did, bearing the long-limbed ellon across the manicured lawns and well tended gardens. He received one or two peculiar looks from various gardeners and groundskeepers but steadfastly ignored them.

It was, as has been remarked, a long way from the House of Healing to the spa but Elrond had never noticed it to be quite so lengthy a journey before. Or such a physically demanding one. His heart was hammering now, its tempo frantic with the need to reach their destination, mouth gaping as he panted, lungs straining for air, shoulders and arms burning, legs wobbling, step staggering. Sweat broke out on his brow and Elrond feared he might actually drop his patient, shocked to find himself this weak and wondering how it could be so. True, he hadn't spent much time in the training fields of late, but surely he was not so out of shape as this present struggle indicated.

A light laugh sounded near his ear and all at once Legolas sprang from Elrond's arms, landing upright before him, straight and tall and full of vigour. He shrugged. "I think I can make it from here," he said, his tone playful and just a little mocking.

"So it would seem," Elrond frowned, arms akimbo as he surveyed the rejuvenated ellon up and down. "You certainly recover quickly, Legolas, and weigh rather more than is apparent, too."

"Assassin," Legolas shrugged again as he set out. "That's one of the first indications an elf is right for the training: higher density of bone and muscle." He strutted off, fully aware that the short robe barely covered his rump, using his long legs to accentuate its firm and supple curves, knowing without looking that Elrond would be watching it shift and roll beneath the meagre gown.

The learned Lord stared, unable to prevent it even though he realised Legolas was deliberately enticing him. So, the son of Thranduil hoped to undermine his opponent with sensual wiles and an appeal to base lust. Well, he would find the son of Eärendil more than a match. Elrond smirked; why should he deny himself the pleasure of looking, or indeed of partaking of whatever this sylvan siren offered? It would be only just if first Elrond and then Erestor jilted this false suitor. He wondered if Legolas knew the truth about the ill-fated affair with his father but decided Thranduil must have told some grossly exaggerated tale of war-torn destiny else Legolas would not be here at all.

They reached the sauna and Legolas was first inside, still in the lead, and had already disposed of the robe when Elrond entered. He found the Wood Elf daintily dipping his toe in the water but then he smiled sidelong at Elrond and leaped in, creating a huge splash that soaked the floor and even spattered the ancient lore-master with a few drops. He settled against the edge of the pool and draped his arms along the side, gazing at his host with gleeful anticipation.

"Won't you join me?" he asked boldly, eyes flashing a daring challenge.

"I believe I will," said Elrond. "It's been a while since I spent a relaxing afternoon in the spa." He began to disrobe, taking his time about it, wondering suddenly how he would compare to the Assassin of Sirion, but then chastised himself; it didn't matter. He and Erestor were not in competition for the favours of this ellon. 

Being that he'd been in the laboratory when all this started, there were no formal robes with which to dispense and the unveiling was soon accomplished. Elrond drew himself up to full height, unconsciously holding in his gut and squaring his shoulders as the woodland prince gave his body a long, slow evaluation. He decided he would not wait for any remarks and hurriedly stepped into the pool, situating himself beside Legolas with a smile. How to begin? Should he let the little sylvan slut seduce him first or just start the interrogation at once? To his surprise it was the Wood-Elf who took the lead again.

"Elrond, we have much to discuss," Legolas said seriously, reaching over and settling his hand on the bare shoulder. "I intended to wait until after the Ball when things settle down a bit, but I find my heart has grown too impatient."

"Your heart?" Elrond was amazed at the audacity of this elf and sat up. "I, too, feel there is much to be revealed about your reasons for being here. Tell me, Legolas, do you love Erestor?" Subtly, carefully Elrond employed the power of Vilya, determined to undermine any lies and deceits by forcing the son of Thranduil to speak only truth.

"What? Of course I love Erestor," Legolas frowned and raised a hand to his forehead, rubbing at it for a slight pain had arisen there along with an irritating buzzing in his ears.

"Then you are doomed for you love someone who is in love with someone else." Elrond increased the strength of the spell for he hadn't expected to encounter any resistance, yet clearly the ellon had just spoken a falsehood. "What brought you to Imladris, Legolas?"

"I would not call that doom; I think you misunderstand me. Is it getting brighter in here?" Legolas shut his eyes and opened them but there was definitely a hazy dazzle collecting about him. He shook his head against the aggravating noise.

"Why have you journeyed from Greenwood to fair Imladris?" demanded Elrond, increasing the power again. It should be impossible to either detect the effects of the mightiest Elven Ring or to fight them and he was intrigued in spite of himself.

"To complete the Trials, of course, and something more," Legolas answered, hands over his ears and eyes squeezed shut. "Which is what I want to discuss with you. Ai! There seem to be some after effects from the Trials I didn't expect. I feel…" and there he stopped, suddenly suspecting the truth. At once his anger flared up. "I can't believe it!" he spat, glowering at Elrond, and then he pounced. The mighty Elven Lord gave an undignified squawk as the wiry Wood Elf wrestled with him but his defeat was inevitable. Half a minute later Legolas sat back again, grinning in a most unpleasant way, examining his right hand carefully. "So, this is the famous Ring of Air," he said, then raised his index finger and waggled it back and forth before Elrond's face. "That wasn't very nice of you."

"Oh…uh…I…" Elrond stuttered, hand reaching toward the bright tell-tale gleam securely seated on the Assassin's thumb. His stomach squeezed into a painful knot and his heart went cold; what might an elf like this be able to do with such a potent talisman?

"Should I use it, do you think?" asked Legolas bitterly. "Or should I trust you to speak with me openly, even though you have showed me your darker nature?"

"Legolas, I only wanted to protect Erestor. You may not know it, but he and your father…"

"Are soul-mates," Legolas cut him off. "Yes, I know all about it, Elrond. I am here so that I can take his place, becoming  _your_  sworn Assassin so that he will at last be released from this odious oath. Ada can wait no longer and pines incessantly. I fear he will begin to fade if he doesn't at last have his heart-mate beside him for good and all."

Elrond gaped, unable to process what he'd just heard. "You know?" he muttered and watched Legolas nod affirmation. "You came here so he can go there, to Greenwood?" Another nod. "To be with your father?" This time an eye roll and an exasperated tsking noise arose from the woodland prince.

"Ai Valar, you are a brilliant ellon where the workings of Arda are concerned but you are a complete idiot when it comes to the workings of the heart," he said sadly. He surveyed the bewildered face in silence a moment and then sighed. "This must be something to do with the Twins," he grumped, "I saw them at the clearing during the trials; that will need to be addressed at some point soon. No doubt they imagined I was here to avenge my Ada's honour or some such nonsense. Honestly, Elrond, you should have separated them at birth and forced them to independence; perhaps that would have stimulated some semblance of mental acuity. As it stands, each one doesn't know how to use even half his brain."

"They are good sons," Elrond defended his parenting skills weakly. "But if you love Erestor how can you let him go to your Adar?"  _And how can you feign such interest in me?_  Even as he thought it, Elrond's heart leaped with excited hope. Perhaps, just perhaps this wasn't going to be a tragedy after all.

Legolas saw that hope and smiled, again settling his hand on the naked shoulder. "I love him, Elrond, but I am not in love with him romantically. Those feelings are reserved for another. Do you not love him, too? Erestor is my mentor, a second father to me. I have spent as much time under his devoted guidance and unconditional love as I have with my Ada."

"How? Erestor seldom leaves the valley and you have never come here before."

"Well, you are wrong but you were never to find out, so that's as it should be. Erestor, honourable Assassin that he is, refused to leave Imladris and sever his loyalty to you. He swore a sacred oath to serve the House of Eärendil and would not budge, no matter how much Ada begged. So, to make a long story short, Erestor built a hidden compound for me to come here and begin my training. I've been spending five years in Rivendell and five years in Greenwood for my whole life."

"Impossible! I'd have known." Elrond crossed his arms and shook his head. "You are not the sort of ellon one would miss, Legolas."

To this compliment the Wood elf blushed prettily and tossed his hair. "Thank you," he cooed proudly, "but I was only a child for most of that time and as for the rest; I'm a Wood Elf. No one is as accomplished at stealth and subterfuge; plus, all the trees are in collusion against you. There is only one pathway through and unless followed precisely, one simply ends up back at the start. You did not see me, but I saw you. I know all about you, Elrond; I've been studying you for years." Legolas sidled closer and under the water let his other hand come to rest on the Lord's thigh. Mere inches away, he gazed upon the solemn face intently, a bright and playful expression in his eyes enhanced with the heat of desire. "I find you a most fascinating subject."

"Oh, yes?" Elrond grinned and leaned in to land a light kiss on the smiling lips, marvelling that he had done it, pleased with the soft texture of the pliant flesh. He decided to repeat the experience and this time pressed lightly with his tongue to see if he could gain entry to that enticing mouth. To his delight, Legolas opened right up. 

Before too many seconds had passed the two were engaged in a heated contest to see whose tongue could explore the most internal terrain, moaning and sighing, petting and caressing one another, rubbing against hard rolls of resilient flesh, sloshing water every where. Elrond, despite being the experienced lover that he was, could not manage to insert a hand between their adjacent bodies to test the girth of the archer's shaft. Every time he tried, Legolas either shifted and made the contact impossible or did this incredible swirling manoeuvre with his tongue against Elrond's soft palate that caused the Elven Lord to twitch and tingle. Eventually, he grew impatient with such teasing foreplay and deemed the time right. Carefully he insinuated one hand between the Assassin's firm arse cheeks and probed the tightly sealed opening between them while the other hand made a shameless play for Legolas' inflamed right ear-tip. The Wood Elf reacted rather severely.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" he shouted, shoving Elrond hard in the chest and leaping out of the pool. He stood glaring in insulted outrage, hands on hips, erection proudly pointing at the ceiling. "I'm not that kind of ellon."

"Oh, well, I thought…we both seemed to find it enjoyable so…" Elrond had a hard time keeping his eyes off the archer's rigid penis but managed to meet the blazing blue glare. He smiled and offered a sheepish shrug.

"So you just thought you'd help yourself, is that it? I seem like the sort of person who just gives away that kind of intimate access indiscriminately?"

"What? No, no, not indiscriminately, no. I thought you wanted to give it to me specifically. Legolas, the evidence speaks for itself," Elrond said wryly, pointing to the aroused cock. He climbed from the pool and displayed the evidence of his own desire. "I felt we were in accord, but we can just as easily reverse roles. I've no objection to granting you, specifically, that level of intimate access."

"Indeed." Legolas shook his head in a mixture of excited disappointment. "Physical attraction is one thing; the heart is another matter. I know what my feelings are, but yours cannot match them at this point. I prefer to wait until I learn to what degree you will open your heart before opening my body, or filling yours." Legolas turned away, slipped into the slippers, and reached for the robe, donning it even though the garment parted around the ruddy erection. He realised he could not go out in this condition and sighed, turning to sit on one of the benches, legs parted, cock displayed in all its erotic glory against the drape of white cotton fabric. 

Elrond thought it the most obscenely enticing thing he'd ever seen.

He had no conception of how he got there, no recollection of actually moving, but Elrond found himself down on the floor pushing his face between Legolas' knees, licking the length of the engorged organ, lapping the tight sack where the hidden balls bulged, murmuring incoherent compliments and frenzied little cries of appreciation. Legolas' hands snatched at his hair and tugged; the muscular thighs closed on his shoulders like a vise; an indignant shout arose that was more shocked than angry, and Elrond refused to be repulsed. He grabbed the scrotum in one hand, locked the other arm round the Wood Elf's waist, lunged forward with all his might, and closed his mouth over the delectable cock.

The taste of it was sweet and musky; he swiped across the softness of the tender glans with his tongue, savouring a drop of fluid the motion squeezed from the tiny slit. Legolas' whole body jerked in response, the legs fell away loose and wide, the fingers knotted in his hair stopped yanking. Chuckling smugly round the hot, sumptuous hunk of meat between his lips, Elrond carefully squeezed the balls and sucked. The reaction was all he hoped and more.

"Elrond! Ai nín Vala!" (Oh my God!) Legolas shouted, voice shrill, wavering between panic and pleasure. Pleasure won. Unable to control his body's natural instincts, he squirmed and writhed on the bench, unconsciously trying to cram more of the rigid organ inside that warm wet cavity with its highly mobile, talented tongue. He couldn't believe what was happening and the idea that he should make it stop drifted faintly in and out of his mind between jarring flashes of electrifying bliss. "D…Daro!" he managed at one point, but "Nay, nay! More, more!" he heard himself moaning the next. 

Before long, he realised he was going to come and frantically tried to communicate this to Elrond, but the lore-master ignored all his warnings. In fact he increased the level of stimulation, using that unbelievably agile oral muscle to tickle the most sensitive zone at the pinnacle of his penis. Legolas gave in to a powerful orgasm, exhaling a long cry of agonised delight as his cock emptied down the mighty ruler's throat, lost in a dazzling explosion of internal fireworks that put the best of Mithrandir's starry rockets to shame. It was over too soon, yet the experience left him dazed and exhausted, though content and happy in a manner he had not known before, and that is what he said.

"Never," he mumbled between panting gasps, gazing down upon Elrond in smitten wonder, "never have I felt anything so grand." He grinned when Elrond laughed proudly. "I never imagined," he added, supporting himself with one arm as the other combed through silken ebony strands.

"Never?" Elrond smirked, sitting back on his heals to survey the results of his work. Legolas' penis was completely lax, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes sparkling, and he had the most deliciously sated smile adorning his fair features. As he watched, the archer sighed and shifted, reclining on the bench, one arm behind his head and the other reaching to examine his genitals as though to make sure everything was still there.

"Never, but that was quite naughty of you, after I said we should wait." He sent Elrond a reproving frown that refused to be serious and instantly transformed into a light laugh and a huge grin. Then he yawned softly, letting a little mew end the gaping intake of air, and languidly blinked a few times. "Tired," he whispered and promptly dropped into reverie. He was still recovering from the Trials, after all, and had not expected to engage in such a thrilling expenditure of energy quite so soon.

"Legolas?" Elrond called, surprised and a little irritated. He was still rock hard and had hoped to get the Wood Elf to suck him off in turn. Obviously that wasn't going to happen any time soon. 

He stood and gazed down at the slumbering ellon and discovered he couldn't really be angry, looking upon that angelic countenance so at peace, so content, a slight smile still adorning the ruby lips. He shrugged and dragged another bench nearby, sitting so he could focus on the beautiful figure, and opened the robe, exposing Legolas fully. Then he took himself in hand and imagined what he wanted, seeing the red mouth close over his cock, the bright blue eyes peering up at him, deadly hands delicately massaging his balls. Elrond's orgasm was not nearly so physically draining, though, and so he took himself back to the pool to soak. Occasionally he glanced over, still amazed over his unexpected good fortune, finding he was content to wait after all. He dozed a bit.

Then he suddenly remembered something important and got out of the pool, approaching the newly minted Assassin in tip-toed trepidation. He frowned, noticing the sparkling gem on the elegant hand while his fidgeted together in debate before cautiously reaching for it. The Wood Elf grunted his displeasure and pulled the hand away, switching so now that one was behind his mane of golden hair. What to do, what to do? It was unwise to disturb sleeping dragons and napping Assassins. Elrond waffled between making a grab for Vilya and imagining what life would be like with legs paralysed by a broken back.

"Um…Legolas?" Elrond poked the prince's knee gently and was swatted away like any annoying fly. "May I have my Ring back?" For an instant the hazy inward vision cleared and pierced him with such intense perception that he caught his breath.

"No," said Legolas and returned to his soothing dream-scape.

TBC

 


	8. Chapter 8

# An Honourable Assassin

#### by erobey • un-beta'd •  _italics = thoughts_

 

## Breakdown

"We know this story," said Elrohir.

"Aye. Thranduil fell in love with Ada," said Elladan.

"Erestor fell in love with the then Prince of Greenwood."

"It was war; nobody was thinking straight. Ada thought it might be fun to have a threesome."

"But Erestor had real feelings for Thranduil and it hurt to share."

"So Ada dropped Thranduil since he didn't really care anyway."

"Stupidly assuming Thranduil would just stick with Erestor."

"But he didn't. He broke things off and left, humiliated and broken-hearted."

"Which then left Erestor alone and broken-hearted, but he refused to follow because of that oath of allegiance to the House of Eärendil."

"Plus he's got his pride, so that's where it ended."

"But obviously Thranduil's been nursing this hatred against Ada and Erestor a long time and now he's sent Legolas here to finish things."

"So we need to get back in there before those Assassins regain their strength!" Elrohir concluded, flailing his arms for emphasis. 

The brothers had recited the abbreviated history with lots of arm flailing and many unsuccessful attempts to dodge around Glorfindel. The expression of irritation on his face now hinted of another ear-cuffing and they ducked at just the right second so the Balrog-slayer's palms connected in a thunderous clap instead.

"All right, I suppose that ridiculously biased account of the facts isn't your fault," he mused, rubbing his stinging hands on his thighs. "You weren't there and this is what you've been told. It's complete drivel. It wasn't like that at all."

"Oh? Well, you weren't there either so how could you know?" challenged Elladan.

"Oropher told me about it and he  _was_  there."

"Oropher?" the brothers exclaimed together and stopped dead on the path. All through the arguing Glorfindel had been shoving them along toward the house and by this time they were in the east courtyard.

"Aye. Oropher and I got to be friends in Mandos, but he was so guilt-ridden over that death-bed promise he forced from Thranduil that he couldn't begin to heal. Once in Mandos, the ramifications of one's actions become crystal clear. He never meant to cause his son so much pain. So, I talked it over with Námo and Manwë and agreed to come back and serve the House of Eärendil. That way Erestor would be free to rescind his oath since Elrond would have another protector."

"I see," nodded Elrohir sceptically.

"Well, I don't. What death-bed promise?" asked Elladan.

"Yes, and if that's all true why does Erestor remain here?" Elrohir added.

"Aye, he remains. The noble Assassin of Sirion wouldn't dishonour Thranduil's wife by showing up to become her rival. Besides, he has his pride and would not accept being what amounts to the King's catamite, no matter how much they love each other."

"Right. So, the marriage was a sham for all that Thranduil and his wife produced eight children?" Elrohir snorted in derision. "Please, anyone going at it that much is either really committed to increasing the population or quite enjoys the procedure involved in so doing."

"They needed a son," said Glorfindel. "That was the promise Oropher demanded: a son and heir for Thranduil, for Greenwood. Took them a lot of tries to get Legolas."

"Wow,  _lots_  of tries."

"What's it been, around 2500 solar years or something?"

"More. That's real filial respect, indeed, to keep a promise with such a difficult and abhorrent requirement." 

"My, wasn't Thranduil a good boy."

"Uh-huh. And the wife just went along with that, knowing Thranduil really loved Erestor?" Elladan's mocking remarks earned him a harsh slap from the Balrog-slayer. "Hey!"

"Mind you insolent tongues!" admonished Glorfindel and gave Elrohir a slap for good measure, not wanting to favour one over the other, especially when they were being equally obnoxious, and ignored the resultant cry of outrage. "You should not make light of the situation. Have you forgotten what you learned of history? It is not for you to judge the motives of the noble Lady. Nor is it right to fault Thranduil for trying to be a good husband and father.

"And, no, Thranduil's no assassin but Oropher was. Runs in the bloodlines. Why do you think he would attempt such a fool-hardy charge against the Black Gates with a handful of archers, no armour, and no support from the so-called Last Alliance? He figured if he could get to Sauron he'd finish it all right then and there. But Sauron's no Blarog, you know, and Oropher was killed instead, along with his entire family save Thranduil."

"Sorry, it's just hard to believe."

"Aye, and why would Oropher demand such a thing?"

"He just wanted to salvage what was left. He just wanted Thranduil to go home and heal the forest, mend the riven souls of the woodland people, be a good King, have a family and be happy. What father wouldn't want to save his last child? What King wouldn't hope to preserve his lands and people? So he demanded that last promise from Thranduil. What son would dare dishonour such a pledge? Would you?" 

"Valar! I guess not. We didn't know any of this stuff." 

"Aye, that's terrible. Nasty business, war."

It was a riveting tale and the Twins did indeed feel new respect for the Elven Kings, past and present. They weren't convinced yet, but deemed the love triangle more complicated than they'd realised. They deemed, though, that if they didn't understand it clearly then Legolas probably didn't either. Glorfindel hadn't refuted their description of the way things between Erestor, Thranduil, and their Adar ended. He'd said nothing about why the Wood Elf was here. Legolas could still be acting on his father's behalf if not at his behest. The Mirkwood Assassin remained the principal candidate to fill the villain's role. 

They were about to expound on this theme when a horrific series of shrieks and blood-curdling screams issued from the house. The brothers jumped in unison and Glorfindel charged past them. They followed and all three barrelled into the house chasing the unholy cacophony. It seemed to be coming from the conservatory and if their ears could be trusted a fourth kin-slaying must be in progress. Glorfindel's knife was in his hand and the brothers had their daggers drawn. Servants leaped aside as they came running and the trio burst into the music room to find Lindir writhing about, careening into furniture and trampling potted plants, revolving in a hideously bewildering dance for all the world as if he was trying to fight off a horde of fiendish demons with imaginary long knives, though the room was empty save for him and Faelon, cowering in the corner whimpering, hands over his eyes.

"What in bloody Mordor?" shouted Glorfindel, gaping at the gyrating, caterwauling minstrel.

"He's gone mad!" gasped Elrohir.

"He wouldn't listen to me," Faelon whispered. "I told him it was poison!"

"Poison!" exclaimed Glorfindel and the twins together. As one they put up their weapons and advanced upon the singer. It took all three to subdue him and he never stopped raving and howling and fighting them. They were awfully glad he didn't have a real sword and carted him off to the infirmary, Faelon trailing along in dejected misery. With the excitement over, the rest of the staff returned to their chores and everything quieted down.

Now, back in the spa, Legolas' keen ears picked up the horrifying shouts and at once he became fully alert. He leaped up from the bench and snatched up Elrond's discarded leggings, pulling them on and cinching them up with the lore-master's silken breech-clout since he was much the more slender ellon.

"Legolas?" Elrond looked up from the pool where he was soaking. "What is amiss?"

"Trouble," intoned the Assassin of Imladris. "Stay here and I will see to it." He raced from the sauna, disregarding Elrond's protests, and promptly dropped into High Stealth, which with Vilya on his hand meant he was virtually invisible, and slunk unobserved through the grounds and into the house.

Elrond climbed out of the water and stood dripping on the floor, hands on hips, scowling at what remained of his garments: a shirt, some hose and shoes, and a tunic. His choices were limited to remaining in the spa or going out with his shirt substituting for a loin cloth, a most undignified aspect for the Lord of the Realm to present. Legolas, he decided, would come back and report on the situation, bringing the pants with him, and so Elrond elected to wait.

It proved to be a very long wait.

Legolas accurately tracked the noise to the conservatory and arrived in time to see Glorfindel and the Twins dragging the screaming minstrel away. Erestor's secretary was desperately trying to make sure the Lords understood that he'd done everything possible to stop Lindir and he was in no way at fault for what had happened. They left, taking absolutely no notice of Legolas, which he found odd, but he decided to remain and survey the mayhem, hoping to find a clue to the singer's collapse. Few of the furnishings remained unscathed but a table and two chairs in one alcove stood intact. Before he could get to them, a pair of elves came in to start tidying up. One almost walked right into him but he leaped aside just in time and it was then he realised the added benefit Vilya provided. Previously unimaginable possibilities sprang to mind but he set them aside to listen to the servants' gossip.

"What was all the fuss?" asked one.

"Not sure; Lindir's gone mad, it seems." 

"Pshaw! Always been mad."

"Nay, he was fine until the tryst with Glorfindel."

"Ah, I heard about that."

"So has everyone else and the consequent scandal has pushed him over the edge. Lindir drank poison."

"No!"

This last exchange was enough to spur Legolas to indignant affront on Lindir's behalf. He silently vowed retribution upon Glorfindel and made a List of things that were going to have to change in the Last Homely House as soon as he took over. Surly Assassin though his mentor was, Erestor appeared to have let things slip a bit. First things first: he must save the fair minstrel. Upon the table were two goblets and a flagon of wine, but only one glass held any of the amber fluid. Legolas manoeuvred around the gossiping servants to get to it and dipped in his finger, tasting the residue. At once his eyes expanded in horror and he turned aside and spat. The servants startled and peered at the icky blob of mucus on the floor in dread.

"Did you just…?"

"You know I didn't."

At that moment Legolas snatched up the glass and hurried away to the laboratory, but from the servants' perspective the goblet levitated of its own accord and then zipped through the air and right out of the room. They ran in terror, ranting about demons and unhoused feär haunting the music room. Lindir had not attempted suicide after all, they hollered. He'd been possessed.

As for Legolas, he and Elrond's assistant worked frantically to prepare a remedy for the effects created by the compound Lindir had ingested. It didn't take very long and soon they hastened to the House of Healing where the poor minstrel was tied to one of the beds as the confounded healers tried to figure out what poison he'd taken and why. Faelon, convinced his friend was dying, was reduced to tears of wailing misery and could only repeat that he didn't know, he didn't know, it was all a mistake; this despite his fear of Glorfindel who had both hands securely about his neck and was shaking him the way he would an orc as he shouted over and over 'Why did he do it? What did he swallow?' 

Of course, he wouldn't bother asking an orc anything like that at all; he'd just throttle it quickly, so Glorfindel wasn't actually shaking Faelon as he would an orc. He was shaking Faelon more the way a person might if he was furiously afraid that someone he very much cared about had tried to kill himself.

The Twins were standing hunched together in the corner, sad-eyed and misty, no doubt silently reminiscing over the good times they'd had with Lindir and how they would miss him. Surely they were having pangs of conscience, but they were most definitely having pangs of dread over their fates should the singer actually perish. Sooner or later, their Adar would decide their cavalier attitude toward Lindir's feelings was responsible for this break-down, especially since they had only just revealed to him that Everybody knew about the affair. They were debating which of the elven realms, if any, would be safe to hide in for the next few decades or whether it would be wiser to withdraw incognito to the wilds of Eriador and blend in with the Rangers.

Erestor paced, eyes on the floor, scowling in bewildered dismay, hands buried in the pockets of his brief House-of-Healing gown, and showing far more of his noble hind quarters than he was wont to do in public. It was the last thing on his mind. No one, it seemed, had realised just how high-strung the fair minstrel was or how distraught he had become of late. Occasionally, the Assassin of Sirion turned a narrowed, calculating eye upon the Balrog-slayer, wondering if perhaps he had something to do with it all. Lindir had a bit of a crush for Glorfindel and Everyone on the estate was talking about the recent tryst between them. Yet, it wasn't like the Hero of Gondolin to engage in meaningless one-day dalliances. Erestor's glare intensified and shifted to the sons of Elrond.

Into this strained and agitated scene walked Legolas (still in High Stealth mode) and the assistant. He could see the prince perfectly well, since he knew he was there, and at once grabbed the apparently floating vial of antidote from his hand before anyone noticed it.

"Erestor," he called, "this is the cure. Make him drink it and the symptoms should subside almost at once. He'll be exhausted and in need of rest and care, but no lasting harm will befall him."

"Thank you, mellon!" gushed Glorfindel, bounding over and taking the vial. He didn't wait for the healers' help but went at once and forced the potion down Lindir's throat. The thrashing and incoherent bellowing dwindled away into trembling and vaguely comprehensible whimpering. He seemed to be saying 'Ai Valar, flying flaming monkeys' over and over as he clutched Glorfindel's hand.

"Daro!" shouted the Twins together and much too late. "You cannot trust him! He's in league with Legolas!"

"What do you mean, 'in league'?" demanded Erestor.

"You hardly need to make it sound so sinister," sniffed the assistant, arms crossed as he drew himself up. "Legolas is my prince; of course I would support him in any cause." 

"You hear? He admits it!" shouted Elladan, pointing from across the room.

"I've never denied it," the exasperated ellon countered. "That doesn't mean I am unworthy of trust; I am no spy and certainly would not harm Lindir. I have served Lord Elrond well despite his somewhat bullying demeanour. Allowances had to be made, under the circumstances."

"Ai Valar," groaned Glorfindel; he hadn't had the chance to finish correcting the brothers' misguided interpretation of the facts. 

"You have all permitted this snake within the household, a spy acting for Thranduil's Golden Assassin," continued Elrohir, "and now they have attacked Lindir."

"No doubt they were testing the vile poison on him to be sure it works before administering it to Ada."

"And probably you, too, Erestor."

"We know all about Thranduil's unrequited love for Ada and the callous way he used and then deserted our kinsman."

"What?!" Erestor roared, face livid in fury, ready to pounce.

"That is preposterous!" shouted the insulted assistant. 

"Daro!" shouted Legolas' disembodied voice and everyone jumped except the assistant, of course. "Faelon, will you not speak and clear up this misunderstanding?"

The poor secretary was gaping in goggle-eyed terror at the empty space from which the Wood Elf's unmistakable voice arose. It was just too much for one day; first the Twins threatened to kill him, Erestor was sure to fire him, Lindir's foolish scheme turned to tragedy, and now the Prince of Greenwood was haunting the valley in spirit form, issuing orders. Faelon fainted again. 

"Sorcery!" shouted Elladan.

"Avarin Magic!" cried Elrohir.

Together they traced a series of protective symbols in the air before them, including the Star of Eärendil, the Divine Behind (also known as Eru's Arse (because it is sacrilege to attempt describing the face of God)), and the powerful AAP (Amath od Alnín Prestad (Shield of Not-my-Trouble: SEP Field*)).

Erestor, though surprised and more than a little concerned, realised at once what was up and calmed down. "Legolas, come out of High Stealth," he commanded and the Assassin of Imladris obeyed his mentor at once. 

"I think it is time we got to the root of the problem," Erestor continued and turned to the brothers. "We do not need Faelon to vouch for this ellon's integrity. I have known him for years and assure you he is no threat to myself, your father, or anyone else. Legolas is not here to avenge his father, for I was neither used nor abandoned by Thranduil. No more was he in love with Elrond." 

"Nay, Erestor, you have been blinded by Legolas' exceptionally well-proportioned physique and daring air…" 

"…by eyes as blue as the heavens, and lustrous, golden hair…" 

"…by skin like cream and nipples plump enough for a babe to suck…"

"…genitalia that would make a stallion proud and a tight round arse we'd love to fuck," they chorused, "except he's an assassin. Think! Is there anyone else in all Arda you should fear?"

A long silence followed this frenetic exposition. The Twins remained in their corner poised for a swift exit should either assassin's temper explode. The healers were busy pretending to examine Lindir while remaining focused on the developing drama. It wasn't often they were privy to such titillating events. Glorfindel was not about to leave the singer's side and was less interested in the troubles between the Imladrian nobles and the Mirkwood prince than Lindir's unstable mental faculties. Faelon remained insensible on the floor. Legolas was caught between preening appreciation, embarrassment, and outrage. Erestor's wrath was not so hampered and he was only holding back by reminding himself that these were Elrond and Celebrian's sons and they would never forgive him if he harmed them.

"Setting aside those crude, lewd remarks about our noble guest, but only, I assure you, for the moment," he growled, "just where did you get this absurd idea that Thranduil is broken-hearted over your father?"

"From Ada, of course," the Twins answered.

"You lie!" shouted Legolas, all flattery forgotten. "Elrond would never tell you something so…so  _wrong_. It is my Ada who ended the affair because he'd met his soul-mate. Nobody's heart was broken, and I am not trying to seuce Erestor; he's like a second father to me."

"True," Erestor laid a restraining hand on Legolas' arm. "Yet I see they believe what they say. Elladan, Elrohir, exactly when did your father tell you this?" 

"Oh, well," the Twins' faces became red, "he didn't actually tell us. We found out when were young, before Arwen was born…"

"…we overheard an argument between Ada and Nana."

"She'd found something, letters from Thranduil to Ada."

"So Ada had to explain about the affair all those years ago. He told her he hadn't ended it very neatly and felt bad about it, but that Thranduil was nothing to him."

"Ah," said Glorfindel sadly, "all becomes clear."

"Indeed," said the assistant, frowning, but not in an angry or unkind manner. It was just such an ugly mess and he didn't like Legolas being dragged into it. "He was protecting her, I suppose."

"So your father doesn't actually know you were eavesdropping?" queried Erestor.

"Of course not," the Twins answered.

"I love Elrond like a brother, but everything he told your Nana is false," said Erestor. "I'll tell you what really happened, but you need to sober up first." He crossed the room and ushered the brothers out much as Glorfindel had done before, only this time there were no protests. He sent Legolas a brief glance, enough to communicate that words must be traded between them, too, ere this was settled.

*- If you do not know what an SEP field is, don't panic. Just google it or buy Douglas Adams - Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, all five.

 

 

TBC

 


	9. Chapter 9

# An Honourable Assassin

#### by erobey • un-beta'd •  _italics = thoughts_

 

## History Lesson 2

  
They were together when it happened, the three of them, and there was no denying that it happened, no means of pretending ignorance or misunderstanding. It was such a shock that none of them could speak, nor move, nor even form thought for several seconds. They simply froze and aeons of time might have passed without anyone reckoning it for in that instant it was made irrefutably clear that everything had changed. From that point forward, for all of eternity, nothing could ever undo this or alter the new order of things. 

Such defining moments, the destruction of one's entire universe, the birth of a new reality, are commonplace, as regular as breathing, as mundane as rain, yet few of these pivotal events are given even cursory acknowledgement. Every thought, every choice, every decision is such a moment, but who notices the subtle uplift in the ground from which a mountain grows? Even when climbing the mountain one seldom questions its existence, too concerned with surmounting it to care. Of course, this change was not ordinary or simple or commonplace to any of them because this one thing happened to all three at once, somehow. The mountain instantly sprang to life beneath their feet and there they stood, gaping stupidly at one another, unable to account for it.

Ever after, Erestor wondered which of his choices had spawned the new reality, or whether it had been someone else's decision entirely. Thranduil's, perhaps? Elrond's?

The war had been dragging on for years with no end in sight when it happened. This was a small war according to Erestor's evaluation though few would agree with him, but then few of those fighting it had been alive to draw sword at the Battle Beneath the Stars when Sauron's master first engaged the elves of Beleriand in organised combat. Erestor knew that a mere two day's ride in any compass direction, save east, carried him into peace or at least beyond open conflict. The others surely knew it, too, or had once, but fighting the war caused it to grow, nourished it, made it so fat it eclipsed the whole of Arda, reducing the world to this detestable plot of accursed and barren wasteland, a paltry valley not a hundred leagues across. Its scale was insignificant, its scope minor, and the energy poured into it conversely monumental. Whose idea had it been, Erestor wondered, to lay siege to Barad Dur?

He stood upon a nondescript and nameless peak in a spur of Ered Lithui gazing north across Gorgoroth, wondering at the label assigned to it on maps and whether it had ever been called something different. Had it ever been a green land, a clean place? He had not been this way before and thought no other elf ever had, either. Why was that? Ah yes, the Valar and the call to the Undying Lands back in the Time before Time. Almost all the elves followed the call away from Cuivíenen; those that hadn't faded into obscurity, lost in anonymity, all but extinct. Now here were the renegades of the Calaquendi and the bulk of the Moriquendi, come back to reclaim this abandoned place from its dark overlord, allied with Men and Dwarves to see it done.

It should be a simple task, would be a simple task for any of the folk of Beleriand in the First Age. Maedhros' weakest captain would have dispatched such a meagre foe with ease, yet now the combined forces of all the free peoples could not budge the badger from his den. Why were the First-born diminishing just when the last of Melkor's twisted lieutenants was poised to fall? 

_It's those Rings. Just as Sauron poured his might into the One, so Celebrimbor funnelled some part of the Music of the First-born into the Three. We are all lesser now than once we were._

Erestor sniffed in disdain, as much at himself and these pointless musings as those who had sent him on this hopeless task. He was charged with locating another way into Mordor, a secret way, and this was utterly absurd. For all the war was small and Mordor minute compared to Dor Daedeloth, the armies of the free people were simply not going to successfully manoeuvre the open plains below. 

It had taken him more than a month to make his way through, seeking out a new pass over the peaks or an underground tunnel beneath them. He'd found both but none that were unguarded. Choking fumes convinced him the heights were preferable to the depths and now here he was peering down into the enemy's terrain. There were no encampments on the broad plain for no attack from the rear was expected. The reason was obvious: steaming vents and pools of boiling mud dotted the expanse; jagged crevasses criss-crossed the valley and dripping from a gash in the side of Oroduin could be seen a thin ribbon of vivid orange lava. The land itself would defeat almost any armed force. One or two might slip past the sentries, over the plateau, and into the Dark Tower, but only if they were very skilful, very brave, and nearly indestructible. 

Only if they were Assassins, in fact.

_Oropher will agree, of course, and has already suggested this strategy, but Gil-galad and Amdir will oppose it, while the Men fear Assassins only slightly less than they do Sauron. Fools!_

Sworn to serve the High King's House, Erestor would not be able to join forces with the Sindarin King. Whatever plot was hatched, coming in through the back door would not be part of it. Erestor finished his reconnoitre, came down from the heights, and started across the plain, a black shadow slipping unseen through a darkened land, passing right beneath the windows of the tower. He attempted Barad Dur; no Assassin could resist the enticement of bringing down Sauron, but the vile Maia was too well guarded, the halls lacking in places to hide and shadows through which to creep. It could be done, though, with planning and more intelligence on the tower itself; an easy enough thing to obtain. He could do it with help, but not alone. Reluctantly, Erestor left the fortress and exited Mordor through the front gate. 

Behind him lay a trail of death, the occasional orc or goblin gutted or garrotted as he made his way over Gorgoroth, but it was not one a mere Uruk could ever track. How he'd got in and out would never be discovered, because the fact that he had done so would never be discovered. His emergence into the midst of a minor skirmish led by one of the Dwarf Lords created a mild disturbance as he hacked a path from behind enemy lines. 

A Naugrim chieftain confronted him, furious over Erestor's swift slaughter of the orcs barring his way, bellowing something about spoiling a wager with a kinsman over who could slay the most orcs in a single foray from the trenches. Erestor gazed upon him coldly, permitting the weight of his might and the realisation of whence he had come supply his introduction, then answered by wiping his dripping blade clean upon the dwarf's long beard. The venerable chieftain paled and stepped aside, shaking as he bowed low. The Assassin of Sirion sheathed his sword and went on his way, smiling in grim amusement.

Searching for Gil-galad to make his report, he made for the standard of the Swan's Wing flying in the breeze and found instead his cousin in the tent. Elrond was not alone. In his arms was a tall, lanky Sindarin elf with hair golden like the sun and eyes that put the azure hue of the Wind Lord's domain to shame. Weapons and armour lay scattered on the ground. They weren't naked yet but that was definitely the goal and Elrond was aggressively pursuing it; the golden ellon was not fighting him. Erestor made a loud cough to get their attention, fully intending to make a ribald comment and embarrass his kinsman, only to find the Sindarin warrior's startled gaze trained upon him. That was the moment when everything changed, a moment of recognition, astonishment, of relief and hope and fear all combined.

The couple parted and the Sinda moved a pace away from Elrond and toward Erestor. There he froze, looked back to Elrond in confusion and regret, half raised a hand to him, dropped it, opened his lips to speak and found no words upon them. His sight travelled back to Erestor and his whole being brightened with joy, an indescribably beautiful smile spreading from his eyes across his countenance. It seemed to Erestor that the ellon's soul filled the space between them and must soon engulf him. He was eager to be swept away in that deluge.

Simultaneously, Elrond visibly deflated almost as if some of the energy fuelling the spark between his lover and his kinsman was drawn from him. His aura diminished to a faint glow and his eyes surveyed the scene with raw astonishment underlain by complete comprehension. His vision tracked from Erestor to Thranduil. He recognised at once what he had lost, or rather what he'd never had, and it was not Thranduil himself so much as it was the bond of love for which he now despaired. The moment for him was brutal, the pain sharp; he would never have the Sindarin prince for his own, and Erestor would. 

Like all moments, this one passed and in its wake Elrond sought to regain control. He peered at the Assassin of Sirion in cold, dispassionate indifference. His patrician features assumed that bland and haughty caste of aloof detachment, an expression he'd never focused upon Erestor before. Yet within the grey irises a new fire kindled, its flame ignited by envious jealousy, fostered by abraded dignity, and enhanced by humiliated outrage. He decided to defy fate and win the ellon back. Even a Sindarin Prince was too noble for the bloody hands of an assassin to touch. He recovered from the shared fugue first and set a possessive hand on Thranduil's arm. 

"Erestor, allow me to introduce Oropher's youngest son, Thranduil, and now would you please leave us cousin? We are a bit preoccupied at the moment," he said with feigned mirth.

"Nay," said Thranduil and drew away. "Elrond, we must speak of this now."

"Speak of what?" Elrond laughed, coming close and gripping both Thranduil's arms. "We have little need of speech for what we planned to do."

"Elrond, you can't ignore…"

"Take you hands off my mate," growled Erestor. His sword was in his fist before he was even aware of drawing it from the scabbard.

"Your mate?" Elrond obeyed, stunned and stung by the command, and launched the first of many verbal assaults upon Thranduil's character. "Your mate has been my lover for the last two months. If there is an understanding between you he neglected to tell me. Be that as it may, I see no reason we can't arrive at a reasonable and pleasurable arrangement."

"No!" Erestor pointed the sword at his kinsman, but Thranduil stepped between them and placed his back to the blade.

"What you hope cannot be," said Thranduil, eyes imploring Elrond to relent. "This is your cousin and I would have no enmity between you. I have not kept anything from you, Elrond, nor have I been anyone's lover before, yet even so Erestor speaks truth. I am not yet his mate, but our souls demand that it will be so. We must end this, you and I."

"End it? Aye, so we shall, but I am not a fool," spat Elrond, "nor will I suffer myself to be made to look one by you. It is clear to me what has happened and I will expound upon it should any wonder at our parting. Be assured, it is no light matter, making me trespass upon my kinsman's heart unaware, for never would I do so intentionally."

"Nay! It was not like that! I swear to you I never saw him before this day," Thranduil insisted.

"You know this is true," added Erestor darkly, "and all who know me will confirm this truth. If you take this road, it will lead only to your own debasement and place a barrier between the armies of Gil-galad and Oropher. Do not do this thing, for it will neither win you what you seek nor avenge your injured pride."

Elrond did not answer him, gathering his things and departing the tent in great wrath. Within hours he had made good his promise, taking his complaint to Gil-galad, and division arose between the two Kings, never staunch allies to begin with. Suspicion and discord grew; dissension and confrontations arose; the tension and strife began to wear on the already exhausted warriors on both sides of the contention. There could be no doubt that this trouble underpinned the disastrous falling out that came in the months ahead, until at last Oropher would not heed the orders of the High King, nor would Gil-galad abet the Sinda's plans. In the aftermath of the Wood Elves' charge against Morannon, both sides felt wronged and bitterness deepened when the sylvans departed with what was left of their warriors. Only then did Elrond understand what he had done and realised his jealousy had laid him open to manipulation by that black and putrid wizard so near at hand.

"Erestor? Are you ill, too?" Elladan called, waving his hand before the seneschal's eyes while Elrohir snapped his fingers in the assassin's ears. He returned from his memories in high annoyance and snatched both hands away from his face.

"Stop that!" he hissed. "Have you lost what little reason you possess?" They were in the Hall of Fire, Erestor having decided the Twins should take over the preparations for the Ball since Lindir was indisposed.

"Sorry, but you were in a stupor and we began to wonder if you'd been poisoned, too."

"Valar! I have not been poisoned and neither has Lindir. Can you not get it through your heads that Legolas is not here for revenge but for love?"

"Love? He said he looks upon you like a father, Erestor."

"Then would he kill his second father?" demanded Erestor. Then he huffed an aggrieved breath and rubbed his forehead; sometimes Elrond's sons were a tad slow. "It is not me he loves. Legolas is in love with Elrond; I'm the one in love with Thranduil." 

The brothers remained quiet, digesting this idea of Legolas and their father, and shared a look of intense distaste.

"You cannot be serious; he's younger than Arwen by almost an Age," said Elladan tersely.

"Don't exaggerate," snapped Erestor, "and age doesn't matter where the heart is concerned. They have much in common, though the past stands in their way. Legolas, however, is a most determined suitor." He sighed; it was time to tell them everything and so he did. It took a little while and the decorations were nearly finished when he stopped. 

"Wait a minute, just hold on." Elladan shook his head in denial. "You're saying Thranduil thinks Ada will break his little prince darling's heart?"

"Yes," said Erestor.

"What gall! What effrontery!" snapped Elrohir, forgetting this was exactly what they'd imagined Thranduil hoped to do to Erestor.

"Ada would never be so cruel," added Elladan, "and you should know it even if this idiot of a King doesn't."

"Be careful; that's my beloved soul-mate you're maligning," warned Erestor. "Thranduil has reason to worry, as I explained. Your father did not take the break-up easily and it caused a nasty scandal that ultimately resulted in Oropher's death and the deaths of too many sylvans to count."

"So that's why there's bad blood between Mirkwood and Imladris," Elladan remarked. "I find it hard to think of Adar that way, young and sensitive, but maybe he really believed it, Erestor. Ada doesn't like being made to look a fool."

"It's Greenwood and perhaps, but who does? I can tell you Oropher did not appreciate having his son's character vilified and besmirched. As for me, I came as close to kin-slaying as I have ever done. Thranduil was only Legolas' age then; Elrond was his first. He tried to handle things maturely, but the pressure was too great. After the death of his father and brothers, Thranduil turned from me, too, feeling responsible for what happened. He punished himself for a very long time."

"Well, what's to be done about it?" queried Elrohir. "I can't honestly say I want an Assassin as Ada's mate."

"Nor do I like the idea of someone that young and attractive becoming my law-father," Elladan grimaced. "How can he possibly know what love is?"

"You state Thranduil's deepest fear, though I think what you really mean is that you feel guilty for lusting after Legolas and secretly hope he will tire of your father and turn to you two. He won't have you because he knows you only want to use him for your delight and pleasure and then cast him off as you have done every other lover."

"Nay! How can you accuse us of that?" they cried as one but their cheeks were stained crimson.

"Tough turds, it's the truth and you'd best own it," Erestor barked. "Like father, like son; Legolas knows his heart and now it is in Elrond's hands. If your father abuses that trust I think he may find himself in peril of his life." Yet Erestor was not thinking of his own wrath or even Thranduil's. His mind was focused instead on the subdued glint of Vilya on Legolas' finger.

While all that transpired, the fair sylvan Assassin and Elrond's mysterious though worthy assistant had returned to the laboratory in order to speak freely about the convoluted replay of past and present, the Twins place in it all, and what to do next. Legolas had some specific ideas.

"I told you they'd be trouble," said the assistant. "They've poisoned Elrond's mind against you. Guess we'd better go back to Greenwood before anything worse happens."

"I wouldn't say Elrond believes their foolish notions," Legolas smiled and blushed scarlet. "Besides, can't you see? They didn't know their father was covering up to spare their Nana. They don't really hate me; they're just confused. And Elrond never realised they heard anything at all. He's kept it to himself all these years and hasn't faded, so his pride was bruised but not his heart."

"Aye, so you've said frequently, Ernilen," remarked the assistant with a soft sigh. Seeing his prince in love was bittersweet; if only it had been someone else who'd captured Legolas' heart. "And before you say it, I know he didn't fade when Celebrian left, either. Your theory that his heart has never been claimed is well documented and these facts do support it. As I have always warned you, as your father has ever counselled, as Erestor has consistently cautioned: even if this is true it still does not mean he will give over his heart to you."

"Well, how can I help hoping?" shrugged Legolas. "He's shut himself away; don't you see? He doesn't think he's meant to be loved. Ada chose Erestor; Celebrian dissolved their bond and left just like my mother did. Elrond's  _amazing_ but nobody appreciates him, just taking it for granted that he's doing what he's supposed to do, never considering how hard all of it is to face alone and unloved. Well, he isn't unloved any longer and I am going to tell him."

"Legolas!" the assistant gasped. "You said you would just let things take their natural course without declaring yourself. Isn't that what we all agreed upon? How will you bear it if he turns you down?"

"He won't," said Legolas, mouth set and eyes flashing. 

"No, I don't suppose he would. Legolas, you look just like your Ada at this age. Elrond does not see you but Thranduil, the ellon who spurned him. He stepped aside, that's true, and he didn't fade, but he had Vilya to prevent it. I fear more of Elrond's heart was engaged than even he can admit. Please, Ernilen, just be patient a while longer."

"Nae! How can you tell me this? Vilya has nothing to do with it. Besides, Ada and Erestor knew at once they were soul-mates." 

"It was war, Legolas. Such things are common when times are so perilous. In normal conditions it may take years for that kind of certainty to develop. You are young and really don't know Elrond. You need to give this time, Ernilen."

"My heart knows him and his will know me." Legolas left the lab but not before his friend's final words made their mark.

"What are you going to do, use Vilya to make him love you?"

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's as far as I got on this one. Will try to finish it someday.


End file.
